


Why Don't We Go There

by the_me09



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Peter Parker, Bottom Quentin Beck, Canon Compliant, Cock Warming, Creampie, EDITH Glasses (Marvel), EDITH used for nefarious purposes, First Time, M/M, Making Out, Quentin is such an asshole, Spiderio Minibang 2020, That Stupid Smile, Underage Sex, Villain Quentin Beck, unexpected lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_me09/pseuds/the_me09
Summary: It’s something about that stupid little smile.Quentin watches Peter’s smile dim at the judgement from Fury and Hill – though they should be fucking ecstatic there’s someone here smart enough to think about the physics and math of multiple universes. If they were smarter, he wouldn’t be able to trick them as easily. So, he gives Peter his packaged line ‘never apologize for being the smartest one in the room.’The effect is astounding. Peter’s smile flares bright, little creases appear at the corner of his eyes. Quentin feels the pull to smile back and knows he’s hooked.(Peter and Quentin share a moonlit boat ride through Venice and Quentin decides to take a different path when Peter finds the projector.)
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 37
Kudos: 139
Collections: Spiderio Mini Bang 2020





	Why Don't We Go There

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Unsettled for the Beta! This was written for the Spiderio Mini Bang 2020. It's not exactly mini, oops. 
> 
> Thanks to Alfie aka @quietcarnage on Twitter for the amazing art!!!

It’s something about that stupid little smile. 

Quentin watches Peter’s smile dim at the judgement from Fury and Hill – though they should be fucking ecstatic there’s someone here smart enough to think about the physics and math of multiple universes. If they were smarter, he wouldn’t be able to trick them as easily. So, he gives Peter his packaged line ‘never apologize for being the smartest one in the room.’ 

The effect is astounding. Peter’s smile flares bright, little creases appear at the corner of his eyes. Quentin feels the pull to smile back and knows he’s hooked. 

Who wouldn’t want someone to look at them like they’ve just turned on the sun?

God, and Peter eats up his whole schtick, falls for every tortured look. He’s holding the EDITH glasses, in that ugly lacquered wood case, and he only has eyes for Quentin. There’s something between them, something drawing Peter to him besides the solemn hero façade.

So, when Fury tells Dmitri to take Peter back to his hotel, Quentin steps forward. 

“I’ll take him.”

They all look at him with suspicion, except Peter. 

“I need you here to get more information about Prague,” Fury says.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Quentin says. He keeps his earnest soldier face on. Peter is looking at him with curiosity. He realizes himself and looks away.

Fury looks at Peter, then looks at Quentin, narrowing his one eye. “Fine; you’re dismissed.”

Quentin nods, in what he’d think of as a respectful manner, before he strides to the entry of the canal. It doesn’t matter to him why Fury lets him go. He probably thinks Quentin can convince Peter to join them in Prague. While Quentin needs Peter to be in Prague for the plan to work, he has to be subtle. He’s gleaned from his research that Peter has a stubborn streak that he doesn’t want to trigger. 

Peter follows him. When he stops to look at Peter, on the edge of the dock, he’s struck again by the expression on Peter’s face. The bright-eyed curiosity that emanates from him. Peter fiddles with his mask, opens his mouth, and then closes it, looking away again. Like something about Quentin’s gaze makes him shy? Or embarrassed? Quentin can’t quite place the emotion. Quentin keeps an eye on him as they climb into the boat; it’s automated, with a million controls, so all he has to do is punch in their destination for it to start gliding through the water.

“I meant it, you did good work out there today,” Quentin says, sitting stiffly in his costume. It’s meant to look regal and imposing, and usually you have to be standing for that. He wishes he could have changed into something else.

Peter shrugs, toying with his mask. The lights are down low, but he puts it back on anyway. Quentin feels a flash of annoyance. It’ll be harder to read Peter’s reactions with the mask on. A smaller, less vocal part of him protests that he won’t be able to bask in the way Peter looks at him.

“All I really did was delay a tower falling down… I didn’t even stop it,” Peter says quietly. “You saved everyone.”

“That’s not true; you got all those pedestrians off the bridge before I arrived,” Quentin says. “You saved lives too.” Why does he have to remind this kid that he’s a hero? It works in his favor that Peter doesn’t want more responsibility. Peter won’t want the pressure of EDITH, of being on call for every disaster. That’s a lot of good material to work with, twisting the insecurities that are already there, implying that Peter’s right, he isn’t responsible enough.

Peter shrugs again. “I just- I really don’t think I’m cut out for this big, the world is ending, defender of the earth kind of stuff? I’m the neighborhood Spiderman. I make YouTube videos, and when people see me on the street they ask me to do backflips,” Peter says, like he’s trying to justify it. That’s fine with Quentin; Peter doesn’t have to be anything more than a friendly YouTube Spiderman. He can hand over EDITH to someone more mature and experienced. “Or at least they used to,” Peter mumbles so quietly Quentin almost doesn’t hear it.

“They used to?” He tilts his head.

Peter shrugs again and looks down at the glasses case, turning it over in his hands. Has Peter even looked at what’s in the case? Does he know what kind of power he holds or does he think it’s just an obnoxious pair of sunglasses. Fuck, Quentin can’t let on that he knows anything about EDITH. He’ll have to play this carefully. There’s something about the way Peter acts, the looks he’d given Quentin that makes him feel there’s something more going on between them. He needs to figure out what that thing is so he can use it. 

“Now they ask about the Avengers, and Iron Man, they ask what I’ll do if aliens come back.” Peter’s voice is quiet, pained. “But the thing is… I was just sort of there? You know?” Peter looks up suddenly, the blank white eyes of his mask unnerving. “You’re a soldier, so when you go somewhere, you expect a battle. You go towards the battle, right?”

“Sure,” Quentin agrees, waiting to see where Peter goes with this.

“I didn’t mean to go where the battle was. I panicked and clung to a spaceship, and then I was- I was there, so I might as well help, I’m not going to sit around while everyone else fights.” Peter makes a movement like he wants to run a hand through his hair, but he just clutches the top of the mask. “But the team I was on? We lost! I wasn’t even good enough to defeat Thanos the first time. It didn’t matter that I was there.”

“I know what that feels like,” Quentin says softly. “It was my job to protect our earth. I signed up for that duty, trained for it, and I still wasn’t good enough.” He looks down, like it pains him to admit that. He’ll share a little trauma, a little vulnerability, and Peter will be the one trying to reassure him.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Peter says, frantic. “I’m sorry, I probably sound so selfish, ugh. I lost one person, and you lost- you lost an entire world. I can’t imagine the pain you’re in.”

Peter puts his hand tentatively on Quentin’s shoulder, under the edge of the cape. He squeezes gently and Quentin holds back a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker.

“I just have to keep moving, protect this world. Like you said… I go towards the battle.” Quentin puts on a small brave smile. He can tell his angle is working from the way Peter looks around, hesitates.

“Do you- uh- maybe want to talk more?” Peter asks. “We don’t have to go straight back to my hotel, right?”

Quentin lowers his brows in concern. “Are you sure? Your class won’t miss you?”

Peter shrugs. “Not yet; everyone’s asleep anyway.”

Quentin gives a little nod and puts different coordinates into the boat. His team has been mapping these waterways for months; he could tell you how to get from one part of Venice to another at least three different ways. He programs the boat to take them through some back canals, near enough to the main thoroughfare to have some pretty sights but not close enough that people will be out.

Peter settles down in the boat, sitting with his legs drawn up and his arms across them. He pulls his mask off and sets it in his lap. Quentin sits next to him, keeping an eye on the control panel until they’ve turned down a different canal.

“Do you want to talk about your world?” Peter offers. “How- um- how did you even get here? Can you travel between universes? Is it some kind of technology your people created or one of your special powers?” Peter’s enthusiasm is creeping back, his brown eyes wide and interested.

What is it about the way Peter looks at him? There’s a niggling sensation that he knows why he’s drawn to Peter, but he can’t quite bring the thought forward. It’s something about his enthusiasm, how he hangs on Quentin’s every word, mixed with… something. He’ll figure it out soon; forcing it won’t do any good.

Quentin leans back, linking his fingers across his lap. “It was an experimental technology. They weren’t really finished, but when- when everything was going up in flames, I was near enough… I thought, hell, the worst that can happen is that I’ll die, and if I don’t try I definitely will.” Quentin pretends to swallow back emotion. “My family was already gone by that point, so I had nothing to lose.”

“Wow,” Peter breathes, his eyes wider, soft and awed. His mouth is appealingly pink.

Quentin shrugs. “It spit me out here, in some desert, and I walked to a nearby town. Things looked familiar, but a little off. When the first elemental attacked, I thought… maybe I was sent here for a reason.”

Peter nods emphatically. “Yeah, like, why did this happen to me if it wasn’t- if I wasn’t supposed to do something with it.”

He’s tapped into something, some worldview that Peter holds about his powers, about his place in the world. Perfect; god, he’s so good at reading people. It’s such an ego boost to know that his manipulations are hitting the right marks.

“Exactly, so I’ll stay in this world until the threat is gone.”

“Oh, then… then you’ll move to another world?” Peter asks. His hesitation is saying something important, but what is it? They’ve just met, could Peter really be that attached to him already?

“Maybe? Maybe not. This world is very similar to my own. It might be nice to stay,” Quentin says. He glances at Peter, trying to imply something more. Imply that something could make him stay.

They lock eyes for a moment and a blush crawls up Peter’s cheeks.

No way.

Is Peter attracted to him? Is the simmering tension between them desire? It’s not lost on Quentin that Peter is flexible, and strong, and his suit clings to every muscle. How could he have missed this? He’s been so focused on wheedling out Peter’s weaknesses that this giant opportunity almost passed him by.

Oh, this is too good. It’s hard to hold back the grin threatening to break free.

He can work with this, especially if Peter continues to be so easy to manipulate. He wears his emotions so openly it’s a pleasure to toy with him. Perhaps that’s part of Quentin’s attraction as well, that he holds such power over Peter at the moment. He’d hate to lose it.

Peter glances away quickly, looking out over the water at the older buildings, lit from below. In a boat together late at night might be considered romantic to some; Quentin wonders if Peter is one of those people.

“What about you, Peter?” Quentin asks, keeping his voice low, intimate.

Peter swallows, looks back at Quentin. 

“What about me?” Peter asks, his voice lowering to match Quentin’s. 

“What’s next for you?”

“Oh, uh…” Peter’s eyes flick to his mouth. Definitely attracted. “I guess- I guess I’ll go with my class to Paris. There’s this…” Peter hesitates and then continues on; “this girl I really like, and I have this plan to take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and give her a necklace, um, and tell her I like her… and maybe we’ll kiss or something.” The blush becomes more pronounced.

Quentin raises his eyebrows and elbows Peter in the ribs good-naturedly. “Oh yeah?”

Peter ducks his head. “Maybe, I don’t know…”

“You should go for it. You’re a good-looking guy, and a hero to boot. You deserve a nice, normal school trip,” Quentin says. Too bad he’s not going to get that, but the more Quentin encourages normalcy the more Peter will realize he stands to lose by using EDITH.

“Yeah! That’s all I want, just a normal vacation. Then I can go back and keep being Spider Man, but I just want a break, you know?” Peter says, so desperate for approval, for permission to want things for himself. How easily would he break if Quentin said that was selfish?

Quentin nods in understanding.

“It’s like- all these people like Fury and people in New York expect me to take on saving the world and being an Avenger and I’ve never- I’ve never kissed anyone! How crazy is that? I’ve fought on an alien planet, but I haven’t had my first kiss yet. It’s just- it’s- I didn’t really choose this? And I’m trying my best with what I’ve got, but it’s- I don’t know…” Peter trails off. He readjusts, straightening his legs in the boat and then folding them in to sit cross-legged. 

This kid just gave him the perfect opening. Does he realize what he’s doing? Is Peter actually a master of seduction? Quentin highly doubts that. He leans into Peter’s shoulder friendly, playful, keeping it casual.

“Kissing is a lot easier than saving the world, so I think you’re good there.”

Peter blushes and huffs a laugh. “Yeah.” He glances at Quentin sidelong. Those eyelashes are sinful. Quentin is surprised by the sudden _want_ , the hook behind his navel. “This isn’t really something I- uh- usually talk about with heroes… you’re just, you’re really easy to talk to. Sorry about all this stuff.” Peter laughs awkwardly and looks down at his lap.

“I’d like to think we could be friends,” Quentin says gently. “I like talking to you too, Peter.”

Peter gives a little nod, smiling to himself. “I’d really like that.”

They sit in a comfortable silence while they steer through the canals of Venice. The night is quiet except for the soft shush of water against the side of the boat. It’s peaceful, being out on the water with Peter. Quentin leans back on one of the seats, letting his hand droop close to Peter’s neck.

“You know,” Quentin starts, quietly, innocently. “If you’re really worried about the kissing thing, sometimes friends practice with each other.”

Peter jerks and looks at him in surprise. “Oh no way, Ned has a girlfriend.”

Even more interesting; Peter’s first reaction isn’t ‘gross I don’t kiss guys’, it’s ‘no, my best friend has a girlfriend.’ That’s good because Quentin wasn’t thinking Peter should practice with Ned anyway.

“I was thinking more that I could help. I’m kind of experienced,” Quentin says, turning his hands palms up and gesturing confusedly.

Peter opens his mouth, closes it, and then blinks, dumbfounded. “Oh, um, that’s…” He furrows his brow, as if working through a complicated problem. “I don’t think… I mean… no offense, but that’s kind of weird.”

Quentin puts on a confused expression. He’s from another world where kissing isn’t such a big deal. He can make up whatever he wants as long as it works. He would bet Peter will be one of those enthusiastic, grateful kissers, that he’s just so excited to be kissed he’ll get into it.

“Oh, sorry, is it weird? I guess I don’t really know the customs here,” Quentin says. He offers a self-conscious smile.

Peter’s eyes widen. “It’s not that weird, I was just surprised is all! Um, well I’ve never kissed anyone so. I don’t know if I want my first to just be practice, you know?”

Quentin nods. “I think maybe kissing is a bigger deal here then.”

“Maybe?” Peter looks at Quentin a little longer this time, his eyes more obviously flicking to Quentin’s mouth. He looks away quickly. Peter chews on his lower lip, and Quentin can tell he’s thinking it over, maybe imagining what it would be like to kiss each other.

Quentin tips his head back to look at the stars, as if it was just a random offer. He’s not concerned about Peter’s answer, there’s no pressure or expectations. It’s so much nicer when they come to him, rather than a more obvious play. And if he knows anything about how Peter’s mind works – and he should, he’s only been studying this kid for half a year – then Peter is going to keep anxiously thinking about his offer, worrying at it, unable to let go.

“Are you ready to go back?” Quentin asks a little while later.

Peter looks at him seriously, searching his face. There’s a more determined set to his chin.

“Is kissing really not a big deal on your world?” Peter asks, almost accusatory.

Quentin nods, acting a little surprised that Peter’s still thinking about that. Of course, he is. “It’s really not, it’s an expression of affection, but first kisses… don’t parents kiss their children?”

Peter frowns. “Well yeah, but it’s a different kind.”

“I guess so.” Quentin shrugs. “It’s really not a big deal, Peter. Things are just different here.”

Peter hums thoughtfully. “I guess so, but maybe… if I get practice then her first kiss will be even better, right?”

God, Peter is just handing him all the tools to deepen their relationship.

“That’s one way to look at it? You could really make an impression,” Quentin says. He gives Peter a little smile, teasing. “Or do you want that first kiss to be kind of awkward?”

Peter huffs and ducks his head again. “I know, I know, I’m super awkward.”

“It’s endearing,” Quentin says.

Peter scrunches up his face. “It’s really not.”

“I think it is.” Quentin shrugs. Peter shakes his head, an amused smile playing around his mouth.

“This is crazy,” Peter says, looking at Quentin from under his lashes. His cheeks are pink again. “You’re sure about this?”

“Are you sure?” Quentin tilts his head. “If first kisses are such a big deal here, maybe you don’t want it to be with me?”

Quentin has studied Peter; he watched the footage of Spider Man’s fights, watched the way Peter responded to Stark and his various requests. This kid just wants someone to respect him, but more than that he wants someone to like him, to tell him he’s doing well and making the right choices. He’s not going to discourage any interest Peter has in him. He’ll let this go as far as Peter is willing.

This wasn’t initially the way he wanted to get EDITH from Peter, but what quicker way to have someone trust you than to have sex with them? To get them to be completely vulnerable with you?

And Peter is so vulnerable.

“I’ll have a lot of first kisses,” Peter says with a shrug, a glimpse of that false bravado he puts on as Spider Man.

“That’s true,” Quentin says. He scoots closer to Peter, watches the flush crawl up from the neck of Peter’s costume to color his cheeks. How would Peter want this to be? Romantic, but not like he’s trying, and like he cares. “So, you want your partner to know they have your full attention.”

Peter swallows and gives a short nod, his hair flopping over his forehead.

“And building the anticipation is very important; there’s excitement in possibility,” Quentin lowers his voice, leaning in to Peter, close, their noses almost brushing. He lowers his eyelashes, looking at Peter’s mouth. “When you’re close enough, it should feel natural to close your eyes.”

“Uh huh,” Peter says softly.

Quentin closes the final distance between them. Peter’s lips are lightly chapped, warm, and then they open in surprise, but Quentin doesn’t take that perfect bait, the perfect opportunity to deepen this into something Peter may not be quite ready for. Quentin moves his lips against Peter’s gently, coaxing him to return the kiss. He does, briefly, and then Quentin pulls back, not wanting to overwhelm Peter.

He watches Peter’s face while his eyes are still closed; the way his eyelashes flutter, how his lips are still parted just slightly, his cheeks pink. Peter really is pretty. Disarmingly pretty. Peter breathes in and then opens his eyes, blinking. His mouth curves in a slow smile.

“Wow, um, I think that was a pretty good first kiss,” Peter says shyly.

“Yeah, I think so too.” Quentin smiles. It was a hell of a lot better than Quentin’s first kiss.

Peter scrunches up his nose. “Do you think… uh… we could try again?”

Why is his uncertainty so attractive? Quentin could shut him down and say no, more than once is strange and weird. Peter would be crushed. That’s what it is, he thinks, he has the ability to devastate Peter already and he’s barely done anything. This uncertainty also hands Quentin the opportunity to light Peter up, make him shine with confidence.

“I’d like that,” Quentin says. “Did you want more tips?”

Peter nods eagerly. “Yeah, these are super helpful.”

Quentin smiles, restraining a laugh. He was right, very enthusiastic. Peter tips his head up, mouth parted slightly, waiting for a kiss. Quentin can imagine much dirtier things for Peter to be this eager about.

“One of the things you can do to build anticipation is use your hands,” Quentin murmurs. He smooths back the curl that fell forward, only for it to flop back down. Peter swallows. “People don’t know what to do with their hands while kissing sometimes, but it’s really simple.” He cups Peter’s jaw, startling him. Peter lets out a breathy nervous laugh. “You can cup their face, or run a finger over their lips,” Quentin continues. He rubs his thumb over Peter’s lower lip gently, feels the little intake of air as he gasps. 

Peter is looking at him with wide eyes. Quentin smiles at him, warm, lazy, pressing his thumb down on Peter’s lip just a little. Maybe this is too much? He’s supposed to be romantic. He slides his thumb back to the corner of Peter’s mouth and dips forward to kiss him lightly. Peter leans into it, kissing back immediately this time. Enthusiastic isn’t quite the word for how Peter kisses; it’s more than that, more than grateful too. Peter puts his whole body into the kiss, pressing forward, eager, innocent, earnest. He doesn’t kiss like he’s trying to take this any further. Quentin strokes his thumb over the side of Peter’s face gently, kissing him a little deeper, a little more intently. He runs his tongue over Peter’s bottom lip, tracing the same line his thumb did, and Peter makes the most delightful noise, part whimper, part moan.

Then he jerks back, staring at Quentin like a caught rabbit.

“Sorry! I didn’t- wow- um I did not mean to make that noise,” Peter says, his voice going up in pitch with each word. “I am so sorry, if you want me to go we can just- pretend this didn’t happen.”

Quentin drops his hand, resting it on Peter’s knee. Peter’s eyes dip to his hand, and it’s like he can feel Peter’s heart pounding, like he can hear his nerves going haywire.

“If I didn’t want to kiss you, I wouldn’t have suggested it,” Quentin says gently. “Sorry, was that too much? I know you’re just practicing.”

Peter swallows. “Oh, um, no? I just-”

“Because the point of kissing someone is to make them feel good, to show your affection and regard. If this is making you feel good, then I’m doing well.” Quentin squeezes Peter’s knee gently.

“You’re doing really _really_ well,” Peter says earnestly.

“Do you want to keep going?” Quentin asks. He injects as much understanding into his voice as he can when all he wants to do is push Peter down into the bottom of this boat and attack his mouth, draw more noises out of him, louder, needier.

Peter bobs his head. “Definitely. If you’re okay, I’m okay.”

Quentin grins at that, showing some teeth. He is far more than okay. Peter smiles back brightly, that awed look lighting up his face. He could absolutely ruin Peter. Wants to, desperately, he wants Peter to look up at him like that with come streaking his cheeks. 

This time Peter leans in and Quentin barely needs to move to meet his lips. Peter takes more of a lead, touching his tongue to Quentin’s lower lip in a mirror of the move that made Peter moan. Quentin cups the back of Peter’s neck, cradling his head to keep him close when he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth.

Peter seems to melt into him, relaxing into his grip, and then his tongue is everywhere.

“Too much tongue,” Quentin pulls back enough to whisper. He doesn’t give Peter enough time to reply or get self-conscious before he dives back in.

Peter tastes like adrenaline and stale mint toothpaste. Quentin kisses Peter deep and slow, exploring his mouth, that taste, and then coaxes Peter’s tongue into his own mouth, feels when Peter starts mirroring his touches. One of Peter’s hands comes up to rest against Quentin’s chest. It makes him realize how close they are, how Quentin could easily guide Peter down, cover his body, rock against him until they’re both hard and gasping.

That thought finally breaks Quentin’s concentration. He’s hard, aching for some friction. And if he’s hard, Peter must be as well. He’s a sixteen-year-old boy for god’s sake, he’s probably been hard since they shook hands.

Quentin leans back this time, not far, not much, but he needs to see Peter’s face, gauge how far he can push this before Peter freaks out or backs down. Peter blinks at him, eyes unfocused.

“Was that better?” Peter asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Quentin’s voice is a little gravelly. He clears his throat, unsure if Peter can tell how he’s getting to him. “A lot better; subtle and slow is best.” Peter’s hand is still resting on his chest.

“Can I…?” Peter raises his other hand hesitantly to the side of Quentin’s face.

“Sure,” Quentin says, trying to hide his surprise. He didn’t expect Peter to be so bold, so forward with his desire.

Peter rests his hand against Quentin’s cheek, rubbery spandex of the suit warm and not unpleasant on his skin. Quentin watches Peter’s face: the intense concentration, the flush on his cheeks, the way his mouth looks wet and redder than before, the slightest hint of beard burn around his mouth. Peter skims his thumb over the edge of Quentin’s beard, as if the sensations are all new, his touch exploratory.

Peter swallows and looks at Quentin, the daze from earlier gone, turned into something more openly curious.

“I’m like, super awkward…” Peter says slowly, eyeing Quentin’s mouth. His gaze drags up Quentin’s face, heavy with meaning. “What else could I do with my hands while kissing?”

Quentin smiles, slow and not quite able to hide his hunger. “Well, the chest is alright when it’s a male partner, it’s a little awkward with a female partner.” Peter’s eyes go wide and he jerks his hand away from Quentin’s chest like he’s burned. “No, no, I liked it,” Quentin says with a laugh.

Peter carefully sets his hand back on Quentin’s chest, and Quentin can tell he’s starting to think too much, the gears spinning in his brain about the way they’re kissing and touching, and what this could mean, or does mean. So, Quentin ducks in and kisses Peter light and soft. He looks startled, but it stops his brain in its tracks.

“Besides the face, you could put your hands on your partner’s waist,” Quentin says, quieter, moving both hands to rest gently on Peter’s waist. He’s hot to the touch, muscular, but soft. Quentin wants to run his hands all over Peter, just to feel him, see what it’s like, what noises he could get Peter to make, what expressions.

Peter shivers, and one of his hands comes to rest on Quentin’s shoulder. He hesitates briefly, and then Peter is kissing him again, firmer, a little more wanting, more confident. Quentin gives Peter a moment, allows him to have control of the kiss. He’s a quick study. Peter shifts up on his knees to press closer, to kiss harder.

Quentin tightens his fingers on Peter’s waist, and swallows the soft noise he makes. This kid has no idea what he’s getting into. Quentin tugs him closer and ravages his mouth, biting lightly at Peter’s lower lip, and chasing his mouth when he pulls away to gasp. He kisses Peter deeply, feels the moment when Peter gives under the onslaught, the way he goes limp in Quentin’s hold, the little moan he lets slip. Quentin keeps kissing him, past the point of breathlessness, past the point of sanity, until his own lips are feeling raw and abused. Peter moans louder, and throws a leg over Quentin’s lap, so he’s straddling Quentin’s thighs.

It’s the perfect position to make Peter more vulnerable, to make him rub against Quentin, embarrassed and squirming; Quentin can picture the wrecked way Peter will look, his floppy hair all over the place, his eyes dark and glazed with pleasure.

“Oh my god,” Peter gasps when they finally separate for air. His mouth looks wet and ruined. Quentin pictures sliding his cock between those lips, pictures the dazed grateful expression, so similar to the one Peter has now. Peter blinks and some more awareness comes back. He looks down to where he’s straddling Quentin, and his eyes widen comically. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- I was just- wow- I’ll get off your lap. I am-”

Quentin cuts him off. “Peter, if I minded, I’d tell you.” Quentin digs his fingers into Peter’s waist, keeping him in place. Peter lets him, stops moving, his face and ears somehow more red.

“I didn’t mean to get so carried away,” Peter whispers. Quentin gently rubs his hands over Peter’s sides. He’s so trim, such a pleasure to touch.

“Me either,” Quentin says. And it’s true, he hadn’t meant to get so caught up in kissing Peter, hadn’t meant for this boat ride to turn out this way when he offered to take Peter back to his hotel.

He leans back in, and Peter meets him halfway. The electricity and heat between them builds, Peter’s mouth wet against Quentin’s. He tugs Peter closer and groans at the contact of their hips, the friction on his dick. He digs his fingers into Peter’s ass and grinds up against him, bites at Peter’s lower lip when he gasps. Fuck, he could definitely get Peter off like this, and hell, it’s so hot he might be able to get himself off, or Peter could give him a hand.

Peter rocks against him with a little whimper and shudder. Then he’s suddenly gone from Quentin’s lap, jerking back so hard he tips backwards, flails, and it looks for a moment like he might tip over the side of the boat. Quentin grabs his arm and Peter clings; it’s the strangest sensation, but Quentin can tell that Peter used his sticking ability on his arm to make sure he wouldn’t fall. He pulls Peter back into the boat. Peter tries to let go, but Quentin keeps a hold on his arm.

“Are you okay?” He widens his eyes, acting like he has no idea why Peter would pull away like that.

“Yeah, uh, yeah, I’m good, totally fine, yep,” Peter says breathlessly.

“What was that?” Quentin asks. He tugs at Peter and meets resistance.

“I-uh- I was just startled? I need- um- it’s so late, I really should get back.” Peter gets impossibly redder.

Quentin knew he was pushing it with the grinding, he just has to make sure this doesn’t set back Peter’s trust in him. This can’t affect the larger plan.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you out so late,” Quentin says, letting his expression fall a little. He puts in the coordinates for Peter’s hotel and the boat turns down a different canal, gliding soundlessly through the water.

The silence thickens and Quentin worries he really has fucked this up. Peter is jiggling his leg like he could make the boat go faster through sheer willpower. Peter can’t think he was being taken advantage of; they have to clear this up before Peter leaves. Otherwise next time they see each other he’ll be even more awkward than before.

“Did I do something wrong?” Quentin says quietly, glancing at Peter.

Peter freezes, gives him a wide-eyed look. “What? No! No, I just- I- ugh.” Peter runs a hand through his hair, making the curls stand up wildly. “I just get, sort of… overwhelmed sometimes? Because of all the amped up senses, you know? It was- a lot.” Peter’s face is red again.

Overwhelmed, huh? Was he really that close to coming? Something to ponder when he gets back to his own hotel.

Quentin nods. “I can’t imagine what all this is like for you. It must make some things really difficult, to be so aware all the time.”

Peter looks at him with surprise and gratitude. “Uh, I mean, I’ve gotten used to it, but… but new sensations really…”

Quentin can’t hold back a little grin. “Overwhelmed, got it. Was it a good overwhelmed though?”

Peter bobs his head, not saying anything else.

The boat coasts to a stop in front of the run-down hotel Peter’s teachers booked. If anyone were to look out their window right now, Peter would be compromised. Quentin glances up to make sure no one is watching. Not that he cares if Peter is caught, but it could complicate the plan. He doesn’t need more complications after this boat ride. 

Besides, even if someone was looking out of their window, they might take note of Peter kissing him, not the Spider Man attire. That could also cause unnecessary complications. Because he is not letting Peter go back to his room without making sure everything is right between them.

“Could I kiss you goodbye?” Quentin asks.

Peter flushes again and looks up at the windows before swallowing loudly. “Yeah?”

Quentin scoots close on the bench and cups Peter’s cheek. He rubs his thumb lightly over the crest of his cheekbone, gratified to hear Peter’s soft intake of breath before he takes his kiss. He keeps it light, gentle, sucking lightly on Peter’s lower lip. Then he pulls back. Peter’s leaned forward, eyes closed, his lips pink and parted softly. God, Quentin wishes he could snap a picture of that expression.

It’s second only to the way Peter smiles at him.

Peter blinks, sits back quickly, and gives Quentin an awkward smile. He stands up, not even rocking the boat, and pulls on his mask. Instead of hopping right out though, Peter hesitates.

“So… you’re headed to Prague tomorrow?” Peter asks, twisting his hands around the EDITH case.

“Yes, and you’re headed to Paris?” Quentin tilts his head. He hates not being able to read Peter’s expressions with that mask on.

“Yeah,” Peter looks back at the hotel and then to Quentin. Can he just spit out whatever he wants to say? Quentin would like to sleep at some point tonight. “I just- uh… well, I really enjoyed talking to you.” Peter’s voice is higher now; scared? Or anxious? Nervous?

What is he nervous about? Rejection? Or getting caught. Fuck. How should he play this off? Innocent or innuendo?

“I enjoyed _talking_ with you too.” Quentin quirks an eyebrow, looks Peter up and down. Peter restrains a little shudder and dips his head. He hops out of the boat and then turns back.

“Do you think we could uh maybe do it again sometime?” Peter says breathlessly.

“I’d like that,” Quentin says. He wants to pump the air in triumph. Peter likes him enough to want to see him again, he’s one step closer to getting EDITH. Now he just needs to ‘prove’ himself worthy with the fire elemental. “Hope to see you around, Spider Man.”

He can practically see the smile behind Peter’s mask. “Yeah,” Peter breathes out. “Yeah,” he says a little louder, and then leaps to the side of the building, sticking, and crawling over the roof and out of Quentin’s sight.

Quentin punches in the coordinates for Fury’s underground base and lies back. Fuck, he’s still so hard. Who knew making out with a teenager could be so gratifying? While he enjoyed himself, he needs to think about how this affects the rest of the plan. Peter clearly trusts him, wants to please him, if he can deepen those bonds, then insinuate that he not only wants EDITH, but also show Peter he’s the best man for the job…

It doesn’t seem like their little make-out will affect the rest of the plan, actually.

~*~

The fight could not have gone better. It was risky, possibly the riskiest part of their plan to have Peter there and ‘fighting’ the monster. They’d watched hours of footage though, planning for Peter to be there and how to make his most common attacks useless. It helped that some of his friends found their way to the battle, distracting Peter. Not that their plan wouldn’t have worked without that. 

The bar is perfectly rendered when they arrive. Peter doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t blink. Guterman serves them drinks, and then the subtle hints start. He needs to get Peter to admit he doesn’t want EDITH, convince him he’s not fit, just like Tony wasn’t fit for that kind of power. 

Everything goes smoothly. Perfectly. Exactly as he imagined it would. When he tells Peter the glasses look stupid there’s this perfect defeated ‘oh,’ and Quentin knows he’s got Peter right where he wants. The way Peter looks at him the moment Quentin puts on EDITH clinches it. Peter transfers control and Quentin wants to laugh, wants to kiss Peter just to see his shocked expression. 

“They look good on you,” Peter says with a shy little shrug. His eyes skim down over Quentin’s face, his body, with something like longing.

Quentin could just let Peter go off to his little girlfriend, could take EDITH and get to work on their next illusion. They’ve got London nearly ready to go; it just needs touch ups, some final work on the damage and destruction. They have to sync EDITH to their own system and do test runs with her, make sure they have full access and that Stark didn’t plant any nasty surprises for someone who isn’t Peter.

Or he could see if Peter learned anything from their make-out lesson. He could see how far Peter will go under the guise of practicing; it would make this evening so much sweeter if he got laid. Two victories in one. He knows he has power over Peter, but what’s the fun in knowing if he doesn’t wield that power?

“Thanks… what are you going to do now?” Quentin says. Peter stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, already bouncier, lighter without the weight of EDITH. It’s a good look on him; so are those black pants. 

“Not sure, um, might go find MJ?” Peter’s voice goes up at the end, like he’s not quite sure. Peter’s throat bobs. “Or… uh… we could go talk some more?” He’s trying so hard not to look hopeful.

Quentin grins, slow and amused. He looks Peter up and down, very obviously, and Peter’s cheeks darken. “I’d like that very much,” Quentin says, his voice lower.

He stands up and puts a hand between Peter’s shoulders, guiding him out of the bar. He shares a look with William and winks. William and the rest of the team look a little uncomfortable, but what does he care? There’s no reason to rush London.

Peter seems more jittery and nervous once they’re outside the bar. He has one hand wrapped around the strap of his backpack still, and the other is pounding out a beat on his thigh. Quentin watches Peter from the corner of his eye. He’s nervous, working himself up to doing this, whatever this may be. Quentin would really like to do more than make-out, though kissing Peter was very satisfying.

He’s sure he can convince Peter to do more. He’s convinced people to do worse things than have sex.

He leads Peter back to the hotel Fury booked for them, where people don’t question the odd things that go on. It’s surprisingly nice; Quentin had expected some sort of inconspicuous dump, but maybe the old man got used to booking things on Stark’s dime. There’s a twinge of satisfaction in the thought that it’s most likely Tony’s money funding his stay in Europe.

Peter is quiet in the elevator, chewing on his lower lip and watching the numbers tick up. Quentin imagines pushing Peter against the wall, sucking on that lower lip, tasting the ragged edges. He’d bite down hard enough to make Peter gasp and then kiss him harder, steal his breath until he’s panting, begging for more, harder than he’s been in his short life.

Quentin clenches his jaw as the elevator dings. Missed opportunity, but then again, Peter might reject him if they’re in a public space. He strides down the hall with Peter at his heels.

The hotel room he’s in is palatial. A sitting room, a dining area, floor to ceiling windows that look out on the skyline of Prague. It might have been a palace at some point for all Quentin knows. An apartment like this in New York would cost millions.

“Wow,” Peter breathes out. “This place is huge!”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what to do with so much space. I’m used to army barracks, campsites, smaller hotels with shared rooms; not… this.” Quentin waves a hand at the room. He wants to put Peter at ease by also being dumbfounded by the extravagance.

Peter’s expression dims a little. “I’ve been in a hotel like this… last time I went to Berlin.” Peter swallows, looking away.

Of course, he’s thinking about Stark, about the disaster in Berlin at the airport. Quentin’s seen footage of that. He was freshly fired from SI and completely unsurprised by Tony’s inability to do anything right. At the time he had no idea Tony would recruit a kid to do his dirty work; god, Peter must have only been fourteen or fifteen at the time.

But Quentin from Earth 833 wouldn’t know about that.

“You’ve been to Berlin before?” Quentin tilts his head.

“Yeah, it was a Spider Man thing too.” Peter shakes his head. “I don’t really want to talk about that. Um,” Peter looks at a loss. “I’m going to go change into my street clothes, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Quentin allows, he gestures down a hall. “Bathroom is through there.”

Peter hurries out of the room and Quentin breathes a little sigh of relief. Fuck, he wants out of this costume. He should contact his team, but they know he got EDITH, and they should know to proceed according to the plan even if he’s taking a detour.

Quentin manages to get the cape off and drape it over the back of a chair. He’s still got make up and dirt on him from the big ‘sacrifice’.

Peter comes back into the room in a white dress shirt and slacks, his backpack hanging from his hand. He runs a hand through his hair and looks around unsure.

“Maybe I should go… I don’t um- I don’t really know what I was thinking.” Peter crosses his arms uncomfortably.

“Have another drink with me,” Quentin says warmly. “There’s no pressure, Peter. We’re friends, right?”

The corner of Peter’s mouth turns up. “Yeah, totally.”

“You’re probably the first real friend I’ve made here,” Quentin says, going to the minibar and pulling out a shot for him and a coke for Peter. He tosses the can and Peter catches it effortlessly. “Fury and his team are just using me.”

Peter softens at that, a little less uncomfortable. “I’m glad I could be around to help. I know I said it before, but it really is nice to have someone to talk to about all this stuff. It’s like, so crazy and I can’t share it with any of my other friends.”

Quentin nods. “It was like that with my family. They loved me, but didn’t understand why I couldn’t just stay with them.” Quentin sighs, really milking Peter’s sympathy. “I knew I had to protect them, to fight for the world and the life I wanted.”

Peter’s expression breaks open, understanding and gentle. “Yeah,” he says softly. He rolls the coke can between his palms, not opening it yet. He hasn’t decided he’s really staying at all.

Quentin takes the shot of booze. He needs to be on his game, but he has EDITH, so shouldn’t he celebrate a little? Peter watches the line of his throat. Oh, he’s not fully decided on leaving yet either. How can Quentin make it seem natural for them to fall into bed?

“Do you think you could help me with something?” Quentin asks with a self-conscious smile.

Peter perks up. “Sure, yeah, what can I do?”

Quentin pretends to be bashful. “Well, I usually had help getting in and out of this armor. I haven’t really been able to take it off since coming here.”

Peter’s eyes widen. He drops his backpack on the floor and sets down the unopened can of Coke. “Oh, yeah, that sucks. Here,” Peter steps close, his eyes scanning over the armor, trying to figure out how it works. Quentin turns his back to Peter.

“There’s a couple latches and hook things, it’s easiest to reach them from the back,” Quentin says.

Peter quickly starts unbuckling the armor and lifts the back half off. The weight lifted away is such a relief Quentin sighs, exaggerating it just a little. Peter helps him set the armor on the floor near his cape.

Quentin turns around, and just as he predicted, Peter is still close, his eyes skimming over Quentin’s body, now free from the bulky armor. Can Peter tell he’s a little hard? This under armor doesn’t hide much. Peter’s eyes find his, and a frisson of excitement passes through Quentin at the hunger on Peter’s face.

This kid should never play poker.

He grabs Peter’s face and kisses him, swallowing down the noise of surprise Peter makes. Peter’s hands hover uncertainly for a moment before settling on Quentin’s hips. He kisses Peter hungrily, not warming him up, but picking up from where they left off in Venice. Peter digs his fingers into Quentin’s side, and then presses closer, kissing back enthusiastically.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I opened my eyes and knew I hadn’t died,” Quentin whispers, pulling away just enough to watch Peter’s face.

Peter’s eyes fly open in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Really?” His voice is choked. “When you sacrificed yourself, I thought-” Peter snaps his mouth shut, cheeks turning red. “Never mind.” He mumbles.

“No, tell me,” Quentin says soft, gentle. He wants to command Peter to tell him exactly what he was thinking, but that wouldn’t fit with this tender moment, with the way Peter is opening up to him.

Peter licks his lips. “Uh, I thought- ugh, okay, you can’t make fun of me.”

Quentin raises his eyebrows. Oh this had better be juicy. “I swear.”

“I thought, uh, I was thinking about Venice. And I just- when you were sacrificing yourself, I wished… I wished that I’d gone further with you than just kissing,” Peter blurts out, talking fast. He scrunches up his face, not looking at Quentin.

Fuck yes, of course he wished that. He’s a horny teenager and his first kiss almost died in front of him. Quentin smiles wide.

“You want to go further with me?” Quentin says, soft and wondering, like this is a gift, something extra, not something he was going to take regardless.

Peter twists his hands in the fabric of his shirt, pulling it untucked. “Um, yeah? I- I haven’t been able to stop thinking about… you know?”

Quentin tips Peter’s chin up, forcing him to look Quentin in the eyes. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either.”

Peter tips forward and hides his face in Quentin’s chest. “This is crazy,” he mumbles.

Quentin buries his face in Peter’s hair, trying not to grin. Everything with Peter is easier than he thought it would be. “Can I tell you a secret?” Quentin needs to lay it on thick so Peter doesn’t get cold feet.

Peter nods, his hands finding their way back to Quentin’s sides.

“When I said goodbye… I was thinking of that night in Venice too,” Quentin says into Peter’s hair. God, how could anyone believe the bullshit he’s spewing? He can barely keep a straight face saying this hallmark movie nonsense. 

Peter makes a soft embarrassed noise that might be a laugh; his fingers dig into Quentin’s sides a little harder. He runs his hands over Peter’s shoulder, down his sides, and pulls him closer so they’re flush. Peter is rock hard against his thigh.

Typical teenager.

“Is this still what you want?” Quentin keeps his voice low. Peter doesn’t realize he left his choices back at the bar.

Peter nods against Quentin’s chest and then tips his head up, blushing down his neck. “Yeah, I don’t- if you go to Berlin? I don’t want to regret not- uh- not having the courage to… to try?”

Quentin runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and cups the back of his head. “What do you want to try?”

Peter swallows, his throat bobbing. “Anything?”

This kid has no fucking idea. The possibilities overwhelm Quentin for a moment, his mind going blank. Anything? He could do anything he goddamn wants and Peter would just take it? He wants to push that idea, but he can’t alienate Peter yet, can’t push too far.

Fuck… anything?

He kisses Peter hard. Peter gives under him, but just for a moment before he kisses back hungrily, surprising Quentin. Peter pulls Quentin against him, gives just a taste of that superstrength. It’s unreasonably hot.

Quentin curls his fingers into the hair at the nape of Peter’s neck, tugging lightly. Peter moans into his mouth, tongue pushing at Quentin’s, sloppily taking control of the kiss. He allows it, teasing at Peter’s tongue with his own, letting the kiss get wetter and messier. He likes the way Peter so easily looks wrecked.

Peter pulls back with a gasp, a string of saliva still connecting their mouths. Peter swipes it away without a thought. Quentin stares at him; the room suddenly feels too warm for the amount of clothes he has on.

“Bedroom?” he says, his voice annoyingly breathy.

Peter nods, stepping away just a little. Quentin can’t have that. He wraps one arm around Peter’s waist, tugging him close again, watching the shudder that works through Peter as his cock brushes Quentin’s thigh. He attacks Peter’s mouth, stumbling backward toward the bedroom. He doesn’t want to give Peter any time to think about what they’re doing, can’t give him time for doubts to creep in.

Quentin stumbles and Peter sticks to the wall with one hand, swinging them around so that Quentin’s back is pressed to the wall. Fuck, Peter could manhandle him any way he likes and Quentin would be powerless to stop him. Why does that make this so much hotter? He grabs Peter’s ass, swallowing Peter’s moan. He slides his hands to Peter’s thighs and makes a little hitching motion.

Peter gets the idea, wrapping his legs around Quentin’s waist, grinding against his hip with a whimper. Both of his hands are pressed to the wall next to Quentin’s head. He’s not used to feeling caged in like this, but with Peter it just makes things more exciting. He’s trying to piece together his own reactions when Peter leans back for breath, panting, his whole face flushed.

Overwhelmed isn’t the right word for how Quentin feels right now.

“Is this okay?” Peter asks, his grin faltering. Quentin must have been staring too long; shit, what does he say? He can’t get his thoughts into order. The word _anything_ in Peter’s voice is still chasing itself around his mind.

“More than okay,” Quentin says, his voice rough. He bites at Peter’s mouth, watching his lips bloom redder, slick and wet. He can picture those lips wrapped around his cock, the wide-eyed way Peter would look at him, wanting praise, wanting to please.

Quentin groans at the image in his mind. He goes back to kissing Peter. Peter meets him with enthusiasm, unsticking his hands from the wall to wrap around his shoulders, one hand tangling into his hair. Peter is everywhere, all around him, and Quentin can’t find it in himself to care. He was right, he thinks smugly, Peter is _very_ enthusiastic.

But what sixteen-year-old wouldn’t be?

They make it to the bedroom and Quentin tips them onto the bed, reversing their positions so that Peter is now the one caged in by him, pinned to the bed. Quentin grinds down against Peter’s cock, can feel the heat and shape of it against his own. Peter gasps, squirms, stops kissing back for a moment. Quentin leans away, trying to gauge Peter’s reaction.

Peter is staring up at him, eyes glassy, a little dazed. Shit, is this good or bad? He didn’t think he’d have to be this careful, Peter was so eager in the hallway.

“Oh my god,” Peter breathes out. He blinks at Quentin, eyes focusing a little more.

“Should I stop?” Quentin asks. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Peter says yes; maybe he shouldn’t have asked, since he has no intention of stopping. He’s going to get his dick wet tonight.

Peter shakes his head frantically. “No! No, uh, just- was overwhelmed for a second. Good overwhelmed!” Peter tugs at Quentin’s under armor. “Don’t stop.”

Quentin grins and kisses Peter’s jaw, under his ear, down his neck, drawing gasps out of Peter as he moves his lips across Peter’s skin. Everything under his mouth is flushed. He bites teasingly at Peter’s earlobe. Peter’s fingers dig into his back harder. How far can he push these things? How far can he push Peter?

He unbuttons Peter’s shirt slowly, kissing his throat, down his chest. He’s being a lot softer than he normally would, but he has to be careful not to blow his cover of a hero, good guy, person who cares about Peter. It doesn’t even matter if he’s gentle because he’s still getting a leg over on Tony Stark’s little protégé, deflowering his hand-picked successor. Wouldn’t Stark just hate that?

Quentin grins against Peter’s chest. Yes, Stark would be furious. Good, let him watch from beyond the grave while Quentin fucks Peter senseless. He bites at one of Peter’s nipples, so pert and pink, and Peter cries out. So sensitive in every way; Quentin should have expected that. Peter will never escape him, never forget him. He’ll be every first Peter has, and if he finds out that Quentin’s been lying it’ll haunt him.

But he’s not going to find out. Quentin is going to make sure he doesn’t, because as long as they’re ‘friends’ he can probably keep fucking Peter. What teenager wouldn’t want a fuck buddy? That’s the dream, right? Someone to call when you’re horny?

“Mr. Beck, wait- wait,” Peter pants out the words, pushing Quentin’s head away from his chest, scrambling away from him on the bed.

Fuck, he wasn’t paying enough attention. What did he do now? Ugh, and he can’t have Peter calling him Mr. Beck in bed. He is not into that. 

Peter shudders and bucks his hips, eyes squeezed shut. He breathes in and out slowly, shivers running through his body. Quentin watches him clench and unclench his fists and it clicks that Peter didn’t push him away because he wanted to stop. Peter pushed him away because he’s trying not to come. A muscle stands out on Peter’s neck, and Quentin just knows that he could tip Peter over the edge if he were to bite that spot.

Why the hell not? As fun as it is to watch Peter struggle and squirm, it’ll be more fun to watch him come in his pants.

Quentin leans forward, breath ghosting over Peter’s neck. 

“I want you to call me Quentin when you come,” he whispers and bites at that muscle, then sucks a hickey on the spot. Peter’s hands come up to his shoulders, digging in painfully.

“Quentin!” Peter groans his name. It’s perfect. His hips jerk wildly, his knees coming up on instinct, hitting Quentin in the side. He’ll have a bruise tomorrow. Peter tries to curl in on himself, but Quentin still has his mouth on Peter’s neck, has moved to nibbling at his collarbone while Peter shivers and jerks under him.

He kisses Peter lazy and sloppy, feels as he relaxes back into the bed, kissing back just as slowly. Peter pushes at his chest, light enough Quentin can ignore it, but eventually Peter pushes a little harder and Quentin leans back, smirking.

Peter closes his eyes and scrunches up his face. “Um… I have to go clean up. I’m really sorry.” He moves to sit up, but Quentin puts a hand on Peter’s chest.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Quentin says, his voice low. He has to work to keep it playful instead of demanding.

Peter’s eyes pop open and there’s a hint of worry for just a moment before he lays back, letting Quentin press him down. Quentin wraps his arms around Peter’s thighs and turns him on the bed so his head is near the pillows, scoots him up. He keeps his eyes on Peter’s face, watching Peter watching him as he undoes Peter’s pants. He can feel how tightly strung Peter’s body is, how nervous, now that he’s not ragingly hard. If he were to let Peter disappear into the bathroom there’s no guarantee he’d come back.

“You’re not- uh- I mean- what are you…” Peter stutters out while Quentin tugs down his pants. There’s a large wet stain on his underwear.

“What a mess you’ve made,” Quentin tsks, shaking his head. Peter’s face, ears, neck, everything turns red.

“I told you to stop,” Peter says, staring at the ceiling.

“I didn’t want to stop,” Quentin says. He gentles his smile into something less threatening.

Peter glances at him, a little crease between his eyebrows. It’s so fun to play with Peter’s emotions, flirt with suspicion. Quentin leans down and kisses at Peter’s hip, raises an eyebrow at him. He pulls down Peter’s underwear, getting him completely naked.

He’s not just pretty, he’s fucking hot. Muscular, trim, a little too buff to be a twink, but with the same slim proportions. His skin is freckled, and blotchy pink and red from embarrassment or arousal. And his cock is thicker than Quentin expected.

“I wanted to watch you come,” Quentin says, voice husky. “Besides, you wouldn’t last very long once I got your dick out, would you?”

Peter throws an arm over his eyes, his cock twitches against his belly. “You can’t say things like that!” Peter says plaintively.

“I’ll use my mouth another way then.” Quentin grins and licks a stripe up Peter’s cock.

Peter squeaks and stares down at Quentin, eyes wide. Their eyes meet and Peter holds his gaze while Quentin kisses the head of Peter’s cock, trails his lips down to the wiry almost ginger hair at the base. There are smears of come caught in his hair, around his balls, and Quentin uses his fingers to smear it up against Peter’s cock.

Quentin loves the mess of sex, loves how people react to it, either full of disgust or arousal. He loves playing off that reaction. Peter’s mouth falls open, his chest rising and falling quicker as he watches Quentin. No one has ever put their mouth on Peter; now, when he thinks about blowjobs, he’ll think of Quentin. You always remember your first. He remembers how surprised he was at nineteen when someone deigned to suck him off.

No doubt Peter is feeling the same. The look on his face is pure awe, amazement. It’s not too different from the way Peter looked at him when they first met.

Quentin licks away the come, dragging his tongue up the length of Peter’s cock, all while keeping eye contact. He feels Peter’s cock twitch and jerk under his tongue, slowly firming up, getting a little longer, flushed pink like the rest of him.

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers, staring at Quentin.

Quentin kisses Peter’s thigh, giving his cock a break, though it does nothing to stop Peter from getting hard again. He turns his head and mouths at Peter’s balls, taking one in his mouth and sucking gently, and then doing the same to the other. Peter is gasping, panting already, muttering a string of ‘ohmygod’ and ‘holy shit.’

“Is this okay?” Quentin asks, blowing air over Peter’s wet balls.

Peter nods frantically. “Oh my god, are you kidding? Way more than okay, this is great, amazing, I can’t even- wow, please don’t stop.” Peter babbles.

Gratifying, though Peter would probably say the same even if he was getting a hand job. Quentin hums and grips the base of Peter’s cock, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking noisily, not fully sealing his lips. He pulls off with a popping noise that makes Peter shudder. Quentin tries not to smirk as he presses his tongue beneath the head, mouth open, and looks up at Peter.

He’ll never tire of the look of pure awe and adoration on Peter’s face.

Peter swallows thickly. He can’t seem to take his eyes off Quentin. He lets his saliva build up, gather on his tongue as he holds it to Peter’s cock, and when he takes the head in his mouth, he lets his spit coat Peter’s cock, dripping down to the base. He seals his lips around the head this time, sucking lightly before taking more in his mouth, he bobs his head lazily, enjoying the way Peter whimpers and jerks beneath him.

Quentin loses himself in the feel of Peter’s cock stretching his lips, hitting the roof of his mouth. He tries to take more, take all of it. He’s a little out of practice with deep throating, and the first try he gags, pulling off with a wet slurping noise. His own cock throbs. Why is having Peter at his mercy like this so fucking delicious?

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, one hand hovering over Quentin’s head.

“You can touch me,” Quentin says, his voice a little scratchy. He grins when Peter gently rests his hand on Quentin’s hair. “I’m good, just a little out of practice.”

Quentin tries again, and this time he manages it, taking the whole of Peter’s cock down his throat, nose pressed to the base, wet with spit and come. Peter moans and his fingers tighten in Quentin’s hair. He pulls up, sucking lazily before diving back down. He can feel Peter’s cock twitching in his mouth. Fuck, is this kid already close to coming again?

He pulls off and licks at Peter’s slit, tasting his precome. He kisses the head, can feel the tacky precome sticking to his lips. When he draws away, a long line of spit and precome hanging from his lips. Peter keens, high and reedy. Quentin looks up, making eye contact with Peter as he licks away the mess. He cannot wait to hear the noises Peter makes when he’s being fucked.

“Do you want to come?” Quentin’s voice comes out huskier than he intended. “Are you close?”

“God, yes, oh god,” Peter gasps.

Quentin doesn’t hold back, doesn’t tease, just wraps his lips around Peter and sucks, bobbing his head. Peter keens, squirms and bucks underneath him, but Quentin doesn’t let up. He cups Peter’s balls, feels when they tighten and pulse and then his mouth is flooded with come. He swallows the first load, most of it, but keeps some in his mouth, letting Peter’s dick slip from between his lips.

Peter is staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving with each breath. Quentin moves up Peter’s body and leans down to kiss him. He pushes the come into Peter’s mouth, lets their kiss get messy, spit and come dripping down the sides of Peter’s mouth. Peter makes a surprised noise, eyes flying open, but he doesn’t try to pull away, just kisses back hesitantly, one of his hands gripping Quentin’s bicep.

Quentin leans back, watching strands of come drip from his lips to Peter’s. Watches as Peter tentatively swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, breaking the connection between them.

“Wow,” Peter breathes.

Quentin grins. “Good?”

“Yeah, uh, weird? But good, definitely, just- wow. That- you looked- I can’t-” Peter continues to stutter, but Quentin cuts him off with another kiss. “Do you- uh- I could do that… to you?”

“My refractory period isn’t as good as yours; if I come, I’m done for the night,” Quentin says.

He realizes he’s still wearing the under armor, still dressed fully while Peter is bare. It suits him, suits his tastes to be the one fully clothed and in control, but he’s going to leave stains in the costume if he keeps going and Janice would not be pleased.

Quentin peels his clothes off while Peter tries to catch his breath. He pushes himself to sit up and runs his fingers over Quentin’s chest, curious. Peter’s fingernail scrapes over Quentin’s nipple and he huffs out a breath with a little shiver. At this point, Quentin’s so hard every little touch feels like fire. He needs to think of something else, distract his mind so he doesn’t get too close to the edge. Peter glances at his face, but then keeps going, running his hands over the hair on Quentin’s chest, over his sides, down to the waistband of the under armor. Quentin’s balls tighten, his cock twitching in anticipation. 

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers.

Quentin laughs. He gets up from the bed and strips off the rest of his costume. His cock bobs in front of him; god he’s so hard. He can tell Peter is tracking his movements, trying not to stare at his cock, but his eyes keep dropping down to it. Quentin strokes himself once, just to relieve some of the pressure building and Peter audibly clicks his teeth together.

“Like what you see?” Quentin quirks an eyebrow.

Peter’s face turns red. “Yeah?” He says it like a question. Does he need permission?

Quentin shuffles through the bedside drawers. He didn’t bring any lube with him, wasn’t planning on having sex throughout this process. This is a fancy hotel; shouldn’t they have something? 

“What are you looking for?” Peter asks, sitting with his legs crossed on the bed. His cock is already half hard again. Completely ridiculous. Could this kid even be satisfied or will he just immediately get it up again?

“Lube, I didn’t plan for… this,” Quentin says, censoring himself a little. He plans every contingency, has a plan c for his plan c, but somehow, he didn’t think he’d be having sex with Peter.

Peter climbs out of bed and grabs his backpack. Quentin steps into the bathroom and there’s nothing. Could he call down to the front desk for a bottle of lube? Or just Vaseline would work, that’s slippery. They would never need to know he’s fucking a sixteen-year-old.

“Like this?” Peter holds out a travel size bottle of lube, his face bright red.

Quentin stops and stares. Did Peter plan for this to happen? Did Peter have this in mind? Or was he just prepared for if the little girl he likes was ready and willing? He stalks to Peter without saying a word, watches the way Peter shrinks slightly, unsure if he’s done something wrong. Peter opens his mouth, but Quentin grabs his hand with the lube, pulls him close and kisses him hungrily. He still tastes like come, smears of it around his lips, but he melts into Quentin, kissing back eagerly.

They really do make a good team. It’s too bad they couldn’t enfold Peter into their plan, but all the research in the world has shown Peter can’t be corrupted. Safer to keep him at a distance. He pulls back, watches Peter lick his lips, dazed, fully hard again, of course.

“You little minx, did you plan to seduce me?” Quentin purrs, skimming his fingers down Peter’s back, over his ass.

Peter’s eyes go wide. “What?! No! No! I just happened uh- sometimes my spider suit gets… I mean… it’s really tight, and I experimented with Vaseline and stuff, but this is- I like this brand…” Peter cheeks are bright red, the embarrassment coming off him like waves of heat. “I swear it isn’t about sex.”

Quentin laughs, and Peter curls further in on himself. God, the power he has over this kid already… it’s delicious. With a few perfectly placed words he could rip Peter’s confidence to shreds, make him feel awkward and self-conscious. But then he wouldn’t look at Quentin with that blinding bright smile, like Quentin has just given him the world.

He puts his finger under Peter’s chin and tips his head up. “Is it about sex now?” He raises his eyebrows.

Peter bites his lip, still looking unsure of himself. “I hope so?”

Quentin nods and kisses Peter softly, grins. “You just saved me from having to call down to the front desk to see if they supply lube.”

Peter laughs soft and breathless, still a little stunned. Quentin leads him back to bed, pressing his hand to the small of Peter’s back, watching his pert muscular ass. This is truly the best reward he could have allowed himself.

With a jolt, he realizes he could use EDITH to record this. He could rewatch Peter’s exquisite reactions, the way he toys with Peter, and best of all, he could use it as blackmail were Peter ever to uncover his plan. Oh, it’s beyond perfect. Contingencies even when he least expects them. The universe is on his side.

The only struggle is getting Peter out of the room long enough to set up the glasses to record. Or if Quentin could leave the room for a moment… he looks at Peter, sitting on the bed, nervously running a hand through his hair, looking around; no, he can’t leave Peter while he’s still so keyed up. He could back out of this decision at any point.

If he comes again though, he’ll be tired, satisfied, there could be a window of opportunity there, especially if he comes _on_ Quentin. Then he’d have an excuse to step into the bathroom for a minute.

It shouldn’t be too difficult to make Peter come again.

He cups the back of Peter’s head, tugging his hair enough to tip his head back. Peter gasps, his mouth falling open a little. Quentin swoops down to kiss him deeply, owning Peter’s mouth, giving him no room for pushback. Peter moans softly, kisses back as much as he can. Quentin hopes to bruise Peter’s mouth. He kisses hard, hungry, slowly pushing Peter down onto the bed. Peter’s hands find his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

When Quentin pulls back Peter’s mouth does look wrecked, and Peter is gasping for breath, his brown eyes gone dark, pupils huge.

“Scoot up on the bed,” Quentin says.

Peter moves slower this time, eyes riveted to Quentin’s face. What does he see? Is Quentin giving too much away with his expression? He smiles and kisses Peter again, lighter, trying to daze and distract him.

Peter lies down on the bed, pulls his knees up to hide his stiff cock, his feet covering his ass. Ah, still a little shy then. Quentin will take care of that.

He climbs onto the bed and grabs Peter’s knees tipping them to the side. Peter twists slightly, turning onto his side with a confused expression. Quentin lies down next to him so they’re facing each other.

“This is an easier position to kiss you from,” Quentin says. It’s also an easier position on his arms while he fingers Peter open, but he’s not going to say that. It’ll also ensure that when Peter comes it will get on Quentin as well.

Peter ducks his eyes with a soft little smile. He leans in and kisses Quentin, soft and needy, still figuring out his technique. Quentin allows it, lets Peter kiss him at this pace, slow and exploring, while he slides his hand along Peter’s thighs. Works of art, really, sculpted and strong, enough meat to really hold onto. He cannot wait to fuck Peter, to see how hard he can take it, see how hard he likes it. Peter’s insecure and inexperienced enough that Quentin could probably convince him to like whatever Quentin likes.

He slides his hand between Peter’s legs, letting Peter continue to kiss him while he fondles Peter’s balls, slowly working his way to Peter’s tight hole. He rubs a finger over the puckered muscle and Peter’s whole-body twitches. He pulls away from Quentin’s mouth with a gasp.

“Okay?” Quentin says, still making a circular motion with his finger, teasing.

Peter nods. “Just- weird, super weird. I don’t- uh- I mean- I’ve thought about this, but reality is- it’s weird.”

“I get it, but I promise it will feel good,” Quentin says. He pulls his hand away to uncap the lube and smear some on his fingers.

“Yeah, sure, totally, it’s not bad now!” Peter says quickly.

Quentin grins. “I’m glad.” He leans in to kiss Peter again, keeping it sweet, a low simmer, just sexy enough to distract Peter from the first intrusion of his finger.

He smears lube over Peter’s hole, making sure his finger is slick before pushing in. Peter makes a quiet noise into the kiss but doesn’t pull away. He holds himself very still and his fingers grip Quentin’s arm painfully. It must hurt a little, this being Peter’s first time, and he supposes the kid has never fingered himself.

Quentin deepens the kiss, biting at Peter’s lower lip, drawing a soft moan out of him. He presses his finger into Peter as far as he can, feeling the way his hole twitches and clenches. Quentin doesn’t move, letting Peter adjust. The good news is that Peter’s cock is still hard, lying against Quentin’s arm the way he has Peter’s body cradled against him. Peter kisses back, a little more forceful than before.

It’s easy to get lost in kissing Peter, he’s so enthusiastic; so soft, yet so strong. Quentin wants to enjoy himself - after all, this is a reward for a plan well executed - but he can’t quite disengage his brain. He’s calculating how long it will take Peter to come if he just keeps using one finger, and if Peter knows enough about anal to call Quentin out if he doesn’t prep him fully, if he makes it hurt.

He needs to stay in the moment. Yes, fingering Peter until he comes is part of a plan to get a recording and blackmail material, but really, this is supposed to be fun.

Peter gasps, mouthing along Quentin’s jaw, rubbing his face against Quentin’s beard. Peter’s warmed up a little, has started making little circular motions with his hips as Quentin tugs at his hole, rubbing at the edges with just one finger still. Peter does fit so perfectly against him, is the perfect height to finger and kiss at the same time.

Quentin pushes a second finger into Peter, feels the way he tenses again, holds himself still. His hand has slid to Quentin’s hip, his grip bruising. Quentin shudders, can feel himself getting flushed, overwarm, at the display, at the way Peter is opening up to him. It’s going to be so fun to fuck him.

He works his fingers in and out of Peter a little faster, using his other hand to pour lube on his fingers. Everything is wetter, slippery, and hot. Peter’s body keeps clenching around his fingers when he pulls out, and he wonders if that’s Peter trying to keep himself full or an involuntary reaction.

Peter’s mouth strays to his neck, nibbling and sucking bruises down and along his shoulder. The light scrape of teeth against his collarbone makes Quentin huff out a surprised breath. Peter pauses for a moment, then does it again, biting light and playful.

Quentin moans, unable to hold it back. Peter’s found the spot he likes, and he seems to realize that as he keeps mouthing and kissing along Quentin’s shoulders, paying special attention to his collarbone. In retaliation, Quentin twists his fingers, curls them slightly to find Peter’s prostate.

Peter thrusts forward with a low moan. He stares at Quentin in surprise, and Quentin strokes that spot again to see what Peter will do. Peter’s body jerks, his cock twitching against Quentin’s arm, and Peter groans, hiding his face in Quentin’s chest. The feel of Peter’s warm breath makes him shiver. Fuck, he can’t draw this out much longer. His own cock is leaking against his stomach, more precome than he’s ever seen in his life.

Peter leans back to look at Quentin, dazed, flushed, with beard burns along his cheek and around his mouth. His hips are still moving with Quentin’s fingers, almost like his lower half is disconnected from his brain. Quentin grins, kisses his lower lip. He works a third finger into Peter and this time Peter just takes it, rocking his hips on Quentin’s fingers.

“Quentin,” Peter groans and shudders.

“Does this feel good?” Quentin asks, smirking, already knowing the answer.

Peter nods frantically. He’s obviously having a hard time controlling his body, his hips jerk backward and forward, trying to fuck himself on Quentin’s fingers while rubbing his cock along Quentin’s forearm enough to come. Quentin kisses along Peter’s neck, leaving his own bite marks. Peter’s fingers dig into the small of his back, feel like they’re pressing through to bone the next time Quentin lightly brushes over Peter’s prostate. Quentin hisses in pain, back curving, trying to get away from Peter’s grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” Peter gasps, jerking his hand away. “I don’t- oh fuck- don’t know my own strength, I guess.”

Quentin stills, leaving his fingers inside Peter, letting him calm down. He’s going to have bruises everywhere tomorrow. Thank goodness his suit covers every inch of skin; the neckline being higher was a good call on his part. 

“That’s okay,” Quentin says, a little surprised to find himself breathless.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter says. He’s trembling still, wiggling on Quentin’s fingers.

Quentin wants to chuckle and say ‘as if you could,’ wants to make a joke about it, but he knows that Peter could, has seen him work, studied him, knows more about Peter’s capabilities than just about anyone except Peter himself. If Peter were to lose control of his strength at the wrong moment, he could do serious damage to Quentin.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons Quentin wants to fuck him, wants to play with danger, prove that he can do it and come out unscathed. Well, not fully, he’s going to be bruised tomorrow. But Peter could tear him apart, break his bones by squeezing too hard, and fuck that is hot as hell. To tame that power? To have Peter _let him_ do all these things? He could probably come on the thought of that alone.

“A little pain can be sexy,” Quentin murmurs, slowly pulling his fingers out of Peter and pushing them back in, feeling a little less resistance each time as Peter’s body adjusts and opens for him. He widens his fingers, stretching Peter’s hole.

Peter stares at Quentin, eyes glazed, like he doesn’t understand. Quentin leans forward, nips at Peter’s collarbone a little harder than before; sinks his teeth in until he feels Peter shudder. He thrusts his fingers hard while he’s latched onto Peter and smirks in triumph at the moan he gets.

“Like that,” Quentin says, kissing along Peter’s shoulder to his neck.

“Yeah,” Peter whines.

He makes such good noises, whimpering and gasping, so responsive to every twist and tug of Quentin’s fingers. Quentin’s been remiss, been ignoring the rest of Peter’s body, but he wants him to come now, is done toying with him. Quentin kisses down his chest, sucks on a nipple. Peter arches, pushing against him. The way Peter moves is mesmerizing, all that awkward nervous energy gone as he sinks into feeling everything Quentin’s doing. Quentin moves his mouth to Peter’s other nipple, sucking and biting at his chest until both his nipples are red and peaked. He’s flushed all over, rosy and wrecked.

He’s gorgeous.

Peter’s cock smears precome along his arm, and Quentin curls his fingers in just the right way to hit Peter’s prostate again, pressing harder this time.

“Oh fuck!” Peter gasps, his whole-body jerking. Quentin grins and rubs that spot while Peter spasms and suddenly hot liquid hits Quentin’s arm and chest. Peter moans, absolutely broken, shaking as Quentin keeps stroking his prostate.

Quentin kisses Peter, open mouthed and sloppy, biting at his mouth. Peter groans, tries to kiss back, and Quentin feels some possessive thing stirring in his chest. Fuck, how nice would it be to have Peter as a plaything? Thinking Quentin’s a hero, thinking he’s amazing. He could go out and ‘save’ the world and then come back to fuck Peter senseless while the whole world kisses his boots.

He moans at the thought. Peter as his, and only his, turning Tony’s little genius protégé into his sex toy? Hell yes.

“God you’re gorgeous,” Quentin whispers, trailing his lips over Peter’s jaw. He needs Peter to feel comfortable enough to stay while Quentin steps away. Needs him to be excited about the next step. “So fucking hot watching you come.” He means it too. Peter shudders, hiding his face, curling closer to Quentin.

That one movement presses some button, triggers some unknown emotion in Quentin. Peter’s so vulnerable, so small, so _young_. He’s so easy to manipulate because he still believes the best of people. What they’re doing right now has the potential to utterly ruin Peter in more ways than one.

Quentin stops moving his fingers, lets Peter rest, catch his breath. He moves his free hand to wrap around the back of Peter’s neck, holding him close, curled into Quentin.

When he thinks of Peter finding out, of knowing how he’s been used, there’s the tiniest flicker of guilt. It’s not an emotion Quentin has felt often, and certainly not recently. Stronger than guilt though, is the urge to protect Peter from that. To protect Peter from the cruelty of the world, to keep him soft, malleable, not just for Quentin’s pleasure, but because if Peter were to lose some of that softness, Quentin is concerned he would lose some of his wonder too.

If Peter found out who Quentin really is, what he’s really doing, he’d never smile at Quentin again. 

He’s not sure where these emotions are coming from, rushing him like this. It’s probably just because he hasn’t come yet, all the blood trapped in his cock is making him loopy, sentimental.

Maybe it’s just his selfishness presenting in a strange way. Obviously if Peter were to become more hardened and world weary, then he might begin to question Quentin’s motives, suspect him of something darker, some manipulation, might begin to see through him. Surely that’s it. He wants to keep Peter vulnerable for himself.

Quentin kisses along Peter's jaw to his mouth, gives him soft, light kisses, pulling back just a little each time Peter tries to deepen the kiss, until Peter is chasing his mouth with soft whines. He needs to distract himself from all these what ifs, all these future possibilities. He’s getting too far ahead of himself. In this moment, he quite literally has Peter in the palm of his hand. Quentin smirks and kisses Peter hard and sudden.

“Hey, I want to clean up before this stuff dries, okay?” Quentin murmurs.

Peter opens his eyes at that, disappointment evident. He’s too young to hide his emotions, all there in those big brown eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course… but you haven’t- uh…” Peter hesitantly reaches out and trails a finger over Quentin’s cock. His touch almost burns Quentin’s so hard, so sensitive. Yeah, he needs to get that under control if he’s going to last any amount of time inside Peter.

“I want to make it good for you, I need a minute,” Quentin says, looking at Peter from under his lashes, trying to imitate bashfulness. “Not everyone can get it up again so quickly.”

Peter pulls his hand away. “Oh, sorry, yeah, whatever you need to do,” Peter says. It’s clear he’s still a little unsure about what stepping away means. Quentin rubs Peter’s prostate one more time, sees the hearty twitch his cock gives and the way his eyes roll back.

“I promise we are not done here,” Quentin says. He pulls his fingers free with a squelching noise. Peter flops back on the bed with a soft sigh and closes his eyes.

Perfect.

Quentin snatches up EDITH and hurries to the bathroom. Fuck, he looks wrecked himself, come spattered along his arm and chest, his lips are swollen and wet, patches of his beard dried white and crusty from spit and come. He grins to himself and splashes cold water on his face. He should be quick so Peter can’t start second guessing everything.

“EDITH,” Quentin says quietly. “set up recording mode for three minutes from now. Do not end recording until told to do so.”

“Recording mode set with three-minute timer activated.”

Quentin takes the glasses off and grabs a washcloth to clean Peter’s come off. He’s got this under control. EDITH is already his, he’s making Peter his too. By the time he’s done in the bathroom he’s not as close to coming, and he’s ready to give Peter a fuck to remember.

Peter’s lying on the bed with one arm over his face, and his cock already half hard against his thigh. This kid could probably fuck for actual days. How many times has he come already? Three? 

He’ll come at least once more.

He sets EDITH carefully, quietly, on the bedside table so she’s facing where the main action will be. Then he climbs into bed. He pushes Peter’s legs a little further open and kneels between them. Quentin glances at EDITH, double checking the angle. He leans over Peter to adjust EDITH, to make sure Peter’s face is in the frame. He takes Peter’s wrist carefully, pulling it away from his face while Peter blinks up at him sleepily.

“Hey beautiful,” Quentin says. “You tired?”

Peter shakes his head, eyes widening. “No way, just uh, resting my eyes.” Peter takes his other hand and presses it to Quentin’s chest, trailing it down his stomach. “You’re so hot,” Peter whispers, awed.

Quentin huffs a laugh. “Thanks, a lot of hard work went into this.”

Not everyone is given a body like Thor. God, the amount of work it took to bulk up, to sculpt himself enough to play the part of a hero? He’d never been one for physical exertion, but he knew that in order to reinvent himself as Mysterio, to make himself unrecognizable, he would have to put the work in. Like everything else in his life, he achieved it once he put his mind to the task. But it was his least favorite aspect of the project. 

It’s nice to have it recognized though, even if Peter doesn’t realize.

Quentin dips down to kiss Peter; he keeps it gentle, slowly deepening the kiss until Peter is moaning into his mouth and arching up under him. He pins Peter’s hips to the bed. Peter isn’t allowed to come again until Quentin’s inside him. Of course, Peter doesn’t know that. It doesn’t necessarily matter if Quentin’s finished, he’ll just fuck Peter through the orgasm. He can imagine how Peter’s body will tighten and spasm.

“Are you ready for me?” Quentin mumbles against Peter’s mouth. He shuffles closer on his knees, gripping Peter’s thighs.

“Uh huh,” Peter gasps. He wiggles, bucking his hips up, trying to rock against Quentin. How is this kid already hard and leaking again? 

Quentin lifts Peter’s legs and spreads him open. Fuck, his hole is red and slick, still gaping a little from the thorough fingering. Quentin grabs the lube with one hand and pours it right on Peter’s hole. Peter squeaks and his ass flutters, tightening. Quentin closes his eyes for a second, the image too much. He’s been achingly hard this whole time, and he knows Peter is going to be tight. It’ll be a miracle if he lasts more than five minutes. The good thing is Peter will probably still come before him.

He gathers some of the lube dripping down Peter’s ass and smears it on his cock, giving himself just one good stroke. Quentin grips the base of his own cock hard, almost painfully so, and rubs the head of his cock over Peter’s taint and back to his hole. He shifts so Peter’s lower back and ass are resting on his own thighs. He slaps his cock against Peter ass, watching Peter’s face as he hears the wet thwack, feels the hot length of Quentin’s cock. Peter’s eyes are glued to Quentin’s face, his cheeks bright red, his lips bruised and wet, streaks of dried come still along his face.

Goddamn, Peter is pornographic. Even the way he sounds, the whimpers, the moans, the way he gasps; Quentin can’t get enough.

He drops his eyes to Peter’s virgin hole, twitching now, his stomach tensing as he moves his hips. Quentin slides his cock along Peter’s ass and the head of his cock catches on Peter’s rim, just slips in the tiniest bit because everything is so slippery, but Peter jerks so hard he slips out again.

Peter flails and grabs at Quentin’s arms, curls in on himself a little to reach the arm that is still holding up Peter’s thighs. His breath huffing out in little puffs.

“Did I surprise you?” Quentin asks, amused at Peter’s reaction. How is he going to handle all of Quentin if that was his reaction to the head?

Peter nods and bites his lip. “Okay, no, I’m ready, for real.”

Quentin grins and readjusts Peter, letting go of his thigh and leaning forward a little, allowing Peter to press his knees to Quentin’s side, his legs bent. Peter seems hesitant to put his legs around Quentin. Afraid of his own strength maybe? Quentin uses his thumb to press the head of his cock against Peter’s hole, watches that tight muscle slowly accept him. Once the entirety of the darker head of his cock is inside Peter, he pauses.

“Breathe,” Quentin says, quirking his mouth up. He needs to take his own advice, breathing in through his nose.

Peter exhales loudly, and then sucks in another breath. The surprise and desire on his face is everything Quentin wants.

“How- how much is that?” Peter curls up, stomach muscles contracting as he tries to see where they’re connected. The movement makes Quentin slip out a little and Peter shudders, stops moving.

“It’s just the tip,” Quentin says with a laugh. “You like that?”

Peter lies back, tilts his hips so Quentin slips in a little further. Peter’s expressions are so open, so easy to read. It’s better than Peter expected, or maybe he likes it more than he expected to, but either way, Peter is very into this. Quentin knew he’d be an eager fuck.

“I can take more,” Peter says, setting his jaw.

That’s just what Quentin wants to hear; of course Peter thinks of this as some sort of challenge, proof that he’s an adult, can make these decisions. Or maybe Peter is thinking about how he’s faced death, put his life at risk, and this is nothing. Quentin doesn’t really care what Peter’s thinking, as long as he continues to want more of this. Because there’s no way Quentin is stopping without getting off, and that’s not something a hero would do if their partner wanted to stop.

Quentin grins. “Yeah, you can take all of me?”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out, wiggling his hips.

Quentin pushes forward, just a little, fucking Peter in short rocking motions, not giving him the whole thing. Why would he when Peter makes these perfect little whining noises? He pauses, and then thrusts in suddenly, his balls pressed against Peter’s ass, whole cock finally buried in Peter. Jesus, it feels like he’s been hard for years with no relief. Quentin groans, finally balls deep in that perfect silky tightness. Fuck. He has to close his eyes, breathe slowly. He could come right now with the way Peter is clenched around him. Peter wiggles, his ass fluttering around Quentin’s cock.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Quentin grits out.

He opens his eyes and looks down at Peter, whose eyes are squeezed shut. His chest is flushed, heaving as he breathes through his mouth. Quentin trails a finger down Peter’s thigh. Peter shivers and moans, knees pressing painfully into Quentin’s sides, fingers digging into the bed. Peter is a vision. His hole stretched around Quentin’s cock, his balls red and full, despite having come so often, his cock lying against his stomach, dribbling precome.

Quentin is so glad he’s getting this on camera. He tilts Peter’s hips, making sure EDITH can get a shot of the way Peter’s clenched tight around him.

“Holy shit,” Peter gasps out, his muscles jumping and twitching. His cock jerks independently and for a moment Quentin thinks Peter will come right then.

Quentin slides out, as much as he can with Peter’s legs holding him, and then pushes back in slowly. Peter whimpers, shudders wracking his body. Peter’s legs tighten and Quentin hisses. Peter stares at him, pupils huge, eyes glazed, and loosens his legs, dropping them to the bed. Quentin hooks his thumbs under Peter’s knees, pushing his thighs back toward his body, opening him wider for Quentin’s cock. Peter’s mouth drops open. Quentin can feel his reaction in the way his ass clenches tight. Peter’s whole body is reacting to the way Quentin fills him. Fuck, he’s already such a great fuck.

Quentin pauses, holds himself inside Peter for a moment before pulling out, and then thrusting in faster, with more force behind it. Peter throws his head back, moaning. He slides down Quentin’s thighs a little. This position might be more work than it’s worth, having to hold Peter in place while they fuck. Quentin bears down on him, feels the lube sticking to his pubic hair as he keeps Peter’s legs up, lowering his ass to the bed so Quentin can really pound into him. Peter makes a noise half sob half moan, his toes curling against Quentin’s biceps. He doesn’t seem to be able to control his noises, or expressions. He’s sublime.

“Harder,” Peter breathes out. He blinks up at Quentin, almost surprised by his own desire it seems. His lashes are fringed with tears.

“Fuck,” Quentin moans. He can’t say no to that look. 

He loses a little of his control; can feel it in the way sweat stands out on his skin, the way he can’t stop panting, the way his hair falls forward in damp strands. He fucks Peter hard and fast; the slap of their skin loud in the quiet room. Peter leans up to kiss him, bending himself impossibly in half, just panting into his mouth. Quentin bites at his lip, kisses him desperately, trying to regain some control over himself. They end up panting into each other’s mouths while Quentin pounds into him.

Quentin groans into Peter’s mouth, feels his balls pulling tight. Shit, he cannot come before Peter. He squeezes his eyes shut, slowing his thrusts. On one particularly rough thrust, Peter stiffens, his entire body going rigid for a moment. Quentin opens his eyes, worried that he hurt Peter somehow, or he discovered EDITH is recording, but then Peter shudders, and near convulses as ropes of come splatter on his chest. 

Peter flails, crushing Quentin to him. He lets go of Peter’s thighs in surprise, so stunned by the force of Peter’s orgasm, his own has been pushed to the side. Beneath him, Peter is warm, but hard, like he’s being crushed against desert stones. It’s a miracle he stays inside Peter, but then Peter is wrapped around him, literally crushing him, can barely breath, painfully held against Peter while more come smears between their stomachs.

Quentin tries to move, tries to make the pain stop where Peter is crushing him. He can’t move, not even a little, not even his hips just to pull out and thrust back in. Peter has arms and legs wrapped around him like a spider about to devour their prey. 

He’s never been more turned on in his life. 

Quentin feels his cock twitch, knows he’s leaking precome like crazy; he’s right on the edge, could tip over easily while Peter’s ass milks his cock. He’s doing his damndest not to come on the spot.

“God, Peter, fuck, loosen your grip,” he grits out, even though he could die happy, torn apart while fucking Peter into oblivion.

Peter relaxes his fingers, his arms, dropping back onto the bad, his legs falling open. Quentin pulls back enough to see Peter’s face, and he’s completely dazed by orgasm number four.

Alright, now it’s finally Quentin’s turn. He holds Peter’s hips down, making sure to dig his fingers in so there will be bruises later, and puts all his strength into railing Peter. Peter keens, throws his head back, but he just takes it, blissed out and relaxed. Seems like Peter can barely keep his eyes open he’s so overwhelmed.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Quentin’s balls pull tight, and then finally, the perfect wave of pleasure obliterates his ability to think. His cock pulses in Peter, hips jerking of their own accord as he works to pump every last drop out. Peter sucks in a breath, twitches beneath him.

Peter clings to him. It’s not an uncomfortable way to be. Quentin catches his breath, face hidden in Peter’s shoulder, Peter still half curled underneath him.

Quentin shifts just enough to kiss Peter lazy and sloppy. His cock finally softening is a relief.

“Hey, let me go for a second,” Quentin whispers, tapping Peter’s leg. Peter sighs and loosens his limbs, breath still hitching every now and again.

Quentin sits back on his calves, slipping out of Peter with a soft pop. Peter’s hole is stretched open still, red, twitching, a pool of come at the edge of his hole. He spasms and a white line of come slowly oozes out of him, clinging to his skin. Jesus Christ. He needs a picture of this. He leans forward, carefully grabbing EDITH and holding the glasses between Peter’s legs so the recording can capture Peter’s glorious debauchery.

He can’t risk holding EDITH for too long and sets her back in place just as Peter opens his eyes. Quentin leans down to kiss him soft and lazy. Peter kisses back uncoordinated, barely moving his mouth, like he doesn’t have control of his body anymore.

Quentin rolls to the side, unable to hold himself up anymore. His muscles are screaming in protest, his entire body aching. He can’t tell if it’s from the physical exertion or the grip Peter had on him. 

He turns his head to watch Peter, waiting for a freak out, but Peter just heaves a deep satisfied sigh.

Quentin is torn; he knows that his team needs to get to work uploading EDITH and syncing her with their system. He knows that he has a big performance tomorrow, that it’s not that late and he could easily still do those things. But. He finds himself wanting to draw this out. He only got to come once while Peter came four - five? - times; it’s just not fair.

And if he wants to be every first, he needs to get a good amount of them out of the way now. Who knows when he’ll see Peter again. He finds himself flipping through different sex acts, deciding which he’d like to do. He could eat his own come out of Peter’s ass, but it’s so much more fun to lick someone open. He saves that for next time, if there is one. He could make Peter eat him out, but he has doubts about how good Peter would be without having it done to him first. They could sixty-nine.

Quentin knows what he _really_ wants. He wants Peter to fuck him. That moment when Peter had crushed him down, held him immobile really did something for him. It’s easy to imagine that same scenario, but with Peter’s cock inside him. Besides, the biggest firsts Peter can have, getting fucked, and fucking someone else would both be Quentin’s. He wants to watch Peter’s face while Quentin sinks down onto Peter’s overstimulated cock. His own cock twitches at the thought.

It’s a show of trust too, right? Getting fucked can be degrading, or embarrassing, or Peter’s so young he could feel guilty about letting an older man do that to him once his brain starts spinning and overthinking. If Peter told anyone they would certainly point out how there was a power imbalance. But if Quentin lets Peter fuck him? There’s less someone could object to.

He turns to Peter, tracing a finger over Peter’s lips and down his chest. Peter sighs and turns his head to look at Quentin. He’s still on cloud nine it seems, not fully come back from his orgasm. Quentin hooks his leg over Peter’s hip and covers Peter’s body with his own, kissing him gently. Peter moans and lets Quentin do what he likes, kissing back sleepily.

“Think you can get it up one more time?” Quentin murmurs. He reaches for the lube.

Peter groans, but his mouth curves up in a smile. “I don’t know.”

“I hope you can,” Quentin says. He gets his fingers slick, Peter’s eyes sliding over at the sound of the cap closing.

Quentin reaches behind himself, and presses two fingers to his hole, slipping them in with a wince. The burn of getting stretched never eases. He could have started off easy, but he wants to fuck himself on Peter.

Peter’s eyes go wide and his mouth pops open. “Are you-” Peter slides his hand over Quentin’s ass and his fingers find Quentin’s, buried to the second knuckle in his ass. Peter’s breathing stops. “Does this mean…”

“Gotta finish a question for me to answer it,” Quentin says breathlessly. He scissors his fingers, trying to relax, not clench up around them.

“Can I help?” Peter whispers, sliding his fingers through the lube dripping onto his stomach.

Not the question Quentin expected, but he can answer it. “I’d love that,” Quentin says softly. He gives Peter a heated look.

Peter licks his lips, moves his hand back to Quentin’s ass. He runs the pads of his fingers around the edges of Quentin’s hole, the touch light, almost ticklish. Quentin swallows back a moan. He’s still just working the two in and out. Peter wiggles his finger into Quentin slowly. Quentin bites his lip and moans, high in his throat. Damn, it’s been a while. His cock is already hard again.

Quentin leaves his fingers inside himself, but lets Peter do most of the work, watching Quentin’s face as he mimics what was done to him earlier, his finger hooking on the rim, and then a second pressing in so Quentin has four fingers inside him. Christ, he feels so stretched, feels like he’s going to be gaping wide when they pull their fingers out.

He looks down at Peter to see Peter watching him with awe. God, yes, that’s the expression he always wants Peter to have when looking at him. Quentin rocks his hips back on Peter’s fingers, whimpers and twitches when Peter hits his prostate on accident. He glances at EDITH and then squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Oh my god,” Peter says. He curls his fingers and Quentin’s cock jerks noticeably. “That’s amazing.”

“I think I’m ready,” Quentin says, pulling his fingers out. He wipes them on Peter’s cock, flushed and hard, obviously.

Peter blinks like he doesn’t really understand. Then pulls his fingers out too fast. Quentin huffs, feeling the cool air on his hole. It’s strange, unfamiliar, but it will be worth it for the way Peter watches him.

Quentin rocks his hips down against Peter’s cock, shivering at the feel against his own. He sits up slightly to reach between them, strokes Peter’s cock with his slick hand. He lets go and repositions so he’s sitting up on Peter’s lap. Quentin’s stomach feels fluttery, is he nervous? It has been a bit since he let someone fuck him.

Peter’s hands hesitantly hold onto his thighs. Quentin kneels up and reaches behind himself to guide Peter’s cock into him. Peter jerks, his cock slipping along Quentin’s crack. They both moan at the feel of it.

“Sorry,” Peter says breathlessly.

“It’s okay, you ready?” Quentin says. He’s panting already, muscles trembling. He’s not going to be able to hold himself up very long.

Peter nods frantically. “Yeah, totally.”

Quentin adjusts and sinks down onto Peter’s cock slowly, savoring the stretch. Peter gasps, hands tightening on Quentin’s thighs, rubbing circles on them. Quentin doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hold, just sinks relentlessly down until Peter is filling him. Quentin sucks in a breath, didn’t realize he’d started holding it at some point. It still burns a little, but as he told Peter, some pain is sexy.

Fuck. He feels full, feels stretched wide. Peter’s cock feels a lot bigger like this. He clenches experimentally and Peter moans, hips jerking once, twice, and then Quentin feels Peter’s cock pulsing inside him.

“Did you just come?” Quentin asks. He shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, he is, thought that after however many orgasms Peter’s had that he’d last a little longer.

Peter covers his face. “I’m sorry!” Peter groans. “I’m so sorry, you just feel so good and it’s crazy hot and like, wet, and tighter than my fist and just- I’m sorry.” Peter sounds miserable, like he ruined something.

“Then I guess I’m just going to sit here until you’re hard again.” Quentin says with a shrug. Peter uncovers his face to stare at Quentin, his cheeks so red it must be painful. “You’ll be hard again in no time, right?” Quentin circles his hips, feels the hot slick come dripping, gathering at the base of Peter’s cock. 

Peter makes a noise that sounds like ‘guh’ and drops his head back to the bed. Quentin smirks at EDITH. He would bet he knows a way to get Peter hard even faster.

“Can you feel your come dripping out of me?” Quentin lowers his voice, tracing a finger over Peter’s nipple. “I can feel it, so hot, and wet, better than lube. I’ll be so slick for you, Peter.” He tries not to grin too wide at the stunned expression on Peter’s face. “Are you going to fuck me good? Will you make me come on your cock, so you can feel what it’s like when I come?”

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers, his brown eyes get impossibly darker. “Fuck.”

Quentin shifts his hips again and freezes. Seems like Peter is slowly firming up again inside him. It’s the strangest feeling because Peter’s been inside him this whole time, but now he feels bigger, is filling Quentin more. He wiggles again and Peter jerks his hips, pushing Quentin forward and up. He’s worried that Peter will slip out, so he sits back, trying to combat the sudden movement, but ends up slamming himself down on Peter’s cock. He moans loud and shocked, his own cock dribbling precome.

Peter grins up at him, his hands slide up to Quentin’s hips. Quentin starts slow, just rocking back and forth; he tips forward so he can slide up and down Peter’s cock easier. Peter leans up and kisses him biting and hungry. Quentin lets himself relax into it, kissing Peter back, working his cock lazily.

“Seems like you’re still the one fucking me,” Peter mumbles and then bites Quentin’s lip.

He feels Peter adjust, not really making the connection, and then Peter tightens his grip on Quentin’s hips, pulling him down at the same time he thrusts up, and the wet sound their bodies make when they collide is nothing to the blood pounding in Quentin’s ears. He’s so hard he feels like he can’t see straight. He can’t think beyond coming.

“Oh god,” he gasps as the next thrust makes direct contact with his prostate.

Peter has an intensely concentrated look on his face. Quentin plants his hands on either side of Peter’s head to brace himself as Peter fucks him hard and fast. Quentin squeezes his eyes shut, taking it, feeling it jolt all through his body. He lets out involuntary whimpers, digs his fingers into the sheets. How is Peter even lasting this long?

Peter’s fucking him so hard there’s no way Quentin has enough balance to jerk himself off without falling into Peter’s chest. His muscles are tight and every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through him that already makes it hard to keep himself up. Holy shit, this might have been a bad idea, but god he’s loving it; he’s never been fucked like this. Guess Peter gets one of Quentin’s firsts too. He can’t catch his breath, and realizes he’s panting, drooling onto Peter’s chest like a mindless animal. He closes his mouth, trying to breathe only through his nose.

Peter doesn’t seem to mind, panting beneath him, a sheen of sweat over his skin. He’s glowing. Quentin shudders at the next thrust, somehow even harder than before. Peter is hammering at his prostate with super strength. He’s lucky Peter hasn’t broken his hips yet.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps as the next thrust feels like Peter’s trying to fuck _through_ him. Quentin’s whole body is trembling; he can’t control his reactions, just takes what Peter gives him. How long can Peter keep this up? Quentin whimpers and moans, making embarrassingly high-pitched noises. “Fuck, _fuck,_ Peter, Jesus, Peter, please, please,” Quentin babbles. His ass is going to be so fucking sore tomorrow.

And then with the next thrust his body lets go, lets him come untouched. Quentin jerks his hips, lights bursting behind his eyes. His entire body feels electric, spasming, his balls pumping so much fucking come onto Peter’s chest. Peter thrusts again and Quentin’s muscles turn to putty. His arms give out and he collapses onto Peter, burying his face in Peter’s neck, his ass still in the air.

Peter lets out a stuttering moan with another few thrusts that make Quentin’s thighs shake. He can just barely feel Peter’s cock twitching inside him, but he feels the extra warmth that means Peter has finally come.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Quentin feels like all his muscles are melting, have lost the ability to hold him up or do anything helpful. He can’t move.

Peter kisses his ear, rubbing both hands up and down Quentin’s back. He shifts so that Peter’s soft cock slips out of him and they both groan. Peter giggles and then can’t stop laughing. Quentin wants to swat at him, but he cannot fucking move.

“Whas’ so funny?” Quentin slurs. Christ, even his mouth isn’t working.

“I don’t know,” Peter says between giggles. “That was- you were- wow that was insane. Amazing.”

Quentin grunts and remembers that EDITH is recording. He did not intend to record that, but he’ll be able to erase it later if he needs to. Might be good to keep both though, to show that Peter was a _very_ willing participant. He lifts his head and looks down at Peter, whose laughter has died out.

“Was it good? For you?” Peter asks, his expression open and hopeful. He makes himself so vulnerable. Quentin could crush him, could tell him it was too much strength, too hard, which would be true, but not the answer to his question. Now would be the time, if ever. It would get Peter to leave quickly, would make him feel worse about himself, his abilities, but it could backfire and make Peter think he can’t have the normal life he’s striving for. And then there’s that small part of Quentin that just _wants_. He wants Peter to like him, wants Peter to remember this night fondly, wants Peter to give him that fucking smile.

“Honey, that was probably the best fuck of my life,” Quentin says.

Peter shines. His grin is so wide and proud that Quentin has to kiss it. He kisses Peter softly, gently, not wanting to get him hard again because Quentin does not have the energy for anything else.

He flops to the side, his thighs and ass sticky with Peter’s come. It’s dripping everywhere. Peter is a mess too, come smeared over him from chest to cock. They lie together and breath, Peter’s hand finding his own, shyly.

This kid shouldn’t be shy about anything with him after that.

It’s getting late though, and Quentin has a lot left to do tonight. He is going to be exhausted and sore as hell tomorrow. How can he get Peter to leave without kicking him out, without damaging his glass confidence?

“Did you call your friends before you came here?” Quentin asks, like he’s idly wondering, just thinking of it now.

Peter sits up so fast he must give himself vertigo because he pauses and groans. “Shit.” He rolls over and pulls his phone out of some pocket on the floor and stares at it, eyes wide. He groans dramatically and covers his face. “May is going to kill me.”

“I take that as a no?” Quentin watches him, all concern.

“May is probably freaking out, my teachers are freaking out, and Ned is the only one who knows I survived, but he doesn’t know where I went, so he’s sort of freaking out too,” Peter babbles. He types out a message and hits send. He turns and looks at Quentin, eyes widening.

Quentin grins. “Don’t get any ideas, you wore me out.”

Peter laughs breathlessly, that small amazed smile back. The one that hooked Quentin in the first place. His eyes skim up and down Quentin’s body.

“Uh, I don’t know if this is like… cool or not, but can I take a picture of you? Like this?” Peter asks twisting his hands around his phone. “It’s totally okay if not, but you just- you’re so hot and you look- I just really want to have something tangible so I know this is real and not some crazy fantasy.” Peter babbles nervously.

It’s so fucking perfect. Peter won’t even be able to dispute anything if Quentin has to leak the sex because Peter will have damning evidence on his own phone.

“Go ahead, honey,” Quentin says, smirking a little, hoping it looks like a sexy smirk and not a smug smirk.

Peter holds up his phone, shakes his head, and climbs off the bed, taking his time about getting a couple good photos. Quentin tries not to get impatient.

“Did you get a good one?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Peter sighs. He stares at Quentin another moment. “I really should go.”

“I understand,” Quentin says, sitting up. He hides his wince from Peter, but just barely.

“I- tonight was amazing, this was- just- thank you,” Peter says sincerely. He’s so saccharine, Christ. Who thanks someone for fucking them six ways to Sunday?

“I should be the one thanking you,” Quentin says with a laugh, deflecting the sentiment. Peter shakes his head and chews his lower lip.

“Can I… can I clean up in your bathroom?” Peter asks, fidgeting.

“Of course,” Quentin gestures to the door. Peter disappears through it, and Quentin gets up stiffly. Better work these knots out so Peter doesn’t think he’s hurt. He does some stretches and makes a face as more come slides down his thighs. He grabs EDITH and slides the glasses on, commanding them to stop recording.

He got plenty of blackmail material.

Peter comes out ten minutes later with wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. He grins at Quentin and then pulls on his evening clothes, tossing his underwear in the trash.

“I really wish I could stay,” Peter says as he gathers up his backpack, looking at Quentin wistfully.

“I know, me too. But your teachers are worried,” Quentin says quietly, like it pains him. He’s going to play off the same sense of responsibility that made Peter hand over EDITH, because that is what will drag him out of bed.

Peter presses his lips together with regret, making his cheeks widen slightly. He’s not classically handsome, but there’s something truly alluring at Peter’s face. Quentin shakes his head. He needs to focus on finishing this job before he can make plans for how to get Peter back in bed. There will be other opportunities. 

“Do you think? We could do this again? I mean- you’re going to be super busy with hero stuff, and it’s my senior year, but I’d really really like to see you again,” Peter says. His face turns pink as he shifts from foot to foot waiting for Quentin’s answer.

Every time, makes himself so vulnerable. He gives Quentin the ability to light him up or tear him down.

Quentin smiles, lowers his lashes. “I’m sure we can figure something out.” He looks at Peter from under his lashes and watches the way color crawls down his neck.

Peter beams and gives a short nod. He takes a deep breath and walks toward the door. Quentin didn’t expect to have to move quickly after that, but he hustles to the door and manages to snag the handle on Peter’s backpack, stopping him with a jerk.

“Are you going to leave without a goodbye kiss?” Quentin raises an eyebrow playfully just to watch the way Peter scrunches up his face.

“Oh, no? I- sorry,” Peter gives a little laugh. Peter tilts his head up and Quentin kisses him warmly. He deepens the kiss, makes it filthy. He’s very aware of the come streaking his stomach, leaking down his thighs, and the way Peter’s fingers tighten on his arms.

“Peter,” Quentin sighs his name when they pull away. He needs to play it off like he’s absolutely lovestruck. He blinks his eyes slowly, like he’s dazed. It’s not entirely an act at this point; he is exhausted. Peter watches him with naked awe. Quentin smiles softly, shy. “I really like you, Peter.”

Peter’s smile grows wide. “I like you too,” he says. What a high school way to put it, but it’ll do for his purposes.

“If I were to stay on this planet…” Quentin trails off and looks away from Peter’s face, like he’s embarrassed to say what he’s going to say. “Do you think… would you help me adjust?”

Peter’s face gets redder somehow and he bites his lip, nodding. “Yeah, uh, yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

Quentin dips down and kisses Peter again. “Me too.”

Peter leaves with a spring in his step. Quentin holds in his laughter until he’s sure that Peter’s gone. He punches the air in triumph. Fucking nailed it.

Nailed Peter too.

Quentin can’t stop grinning. He got a helluva lay out of this and got EDITH; what could go wrong?

~*~

“One of the drones came back from the plaza without a projector.” William waves off Quentin’s concern when his projection costume lags behind his movement. Quentin’s eyes feel like they’re bugging out. “It’s not a big deal. The image will be perfect, I promise.”

“That projector is evidence,” Quentin says, biting out his words. There goes his post-sex high. God, is he the only one who isn’t a fucking fool? “It’s going to let people know what we’re doing and how we’re doing it.” He takes control of EDITH and has her search for the missing projector.

It’s exactly where he doesn’t want it. In Peter’s hands.

No, fuck no. Goddamit!

Peter’s going to see through him in an instant. He’s too smart to not figure it out. And if the projector is still connected to their system it’s possible he saw some of the projections they were just running through.

Okay, he has to stay calm, has to think his way through this.

Immediate plan: kill Peter. Kid’s gotta go, he knows too much. He has a projector; he could go to Fury and expose the whole plan. They could draw Peter away from his friends, find something that could kill a superhero - obviously Quentin can’t do it by hand - and then create some illusions to scare him, get him in the right spot at the right time.

Quentin runs a hand through his hair, holding onto it, trying to think. 

He doesn’t want to kill Peter though. He likes the kid, would very much like to fuck him again. But is he willing to put their entire plan at risk to get his dick wet? He’s already had Peter, it's not like he’s missing out.

That’s not entirely true. Now that he’s had Peter, he knows _exactly_ what he’d be missing out on.

He didn’t even get Peter to blow him. Didn’t get to try any other positions. It would be such a shame to kill Peter without experiencing that mouth on his dick.

Quentin takes a deep breath and rubs his temples, holding himself very still otherwise. He can’t get distracted by the sex. 

He has the recording from their night together. He could blackmail Peter; threaten to release the footage if he says anything. But again, he’s shooting himself in the foot because not only would Peter be alive and able to expose his secret, he’d know Quentin is more villain than hero and definitely wouldn’t sleep with him again.

Quentin puts his palm to his forehead. He has to think bigger, think about how he could play this off. How can he twist what Peter has seen? Peter knows he has EDITH, knows Quentin has the capability to track him, send a drone to murder him.

Could he tell Peter parts of the truth? No way, he’s too loyal to Saint Iron Man to ever think about helping Quentin, to ever consider letting him take that top spot.

Who would create elaborate illusions like this?

Fury would.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. The most genius play: pin it all on Fury. Peter already doesn’t trust Fury, doesn’t like him, and Fury has only pushed Peter into things. Meanwhile, Quentin has helped Peter, fucked Peter, and let Peter fuck him. They’ve been ‘vulnerable’ together. If he can convince Peter they’ve both been used, that Quentin is upset and frightened too, maybe he can pull it off.

There’s no reason for Peter to doubt him, other than the projector, but if he can say it’s Fury doing it, why wouldn’t Peter go along with him?

And if Peter doesn’t trust him, it’ll at least buy him time to come up with a plan because he doubts Peter will fight him immediately. He’ll want to talk to Fury, see what Fury has to say for himself. Worst case scenario, Peter takes EDITH back and part of their plan is exposed, but their plan is already exposed if he doesn’t do something now.

Best case scenario: he and Peter go confront Fury together and then maybe he can twist it so Fury seems aggressive and off. He might be able to get away with killing Fury with Peter as a witness that he was justified.

So he has to try.

“I’m going to pin it all on Fury,” Quentin says. He realizes they’re all staring at him, silence loaded.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill Spider Man?” William asks. He frowns at Quentin confused. “That was the backup plan, right? If we need to kill him, the abandoned warehouse, the train yard?”

The rage Quentin feels at William’s question isn’t wholly unexpected, but the way it clouds his thoughts, the way it takes him over, is stronger than he thought. EDITH is still connected to him, and drones target William, Guterman, Victoria, everyone on the team suddenly has a drone trained on them. 

He takes a calming breath. They don’t know his thought process, and he doesn’t have time to explain every point. Quentin has to act fast to head Peter off before he runs to Fury. 

“If you think it would be easier to kill Spider Man, you weren’t paying attention to our research,” Quentin says coldly. “Having seen him in battle, I don’t think a train would get the job done.” He takes measured steps forward, watching William. “If I can make Peter think Fury is the one doing this, I could get an opportunity to kill Fury before London, and have a witness say it was justified. In the long run, it will create less complications.”

Quentin looks around, takes in how people are starting to nod, puzzling through things in their own way. This is exactly why he’s the leader, the ideas man, it takes them so long to catch up with him. 

The team helps Quentin put his costume back on because clearly the projection isn’t going to work for this. He watches on the cameras as Peter runs back to his hotel with that MJ girl, looking over his shoulder. 

~*~

Outside the window to Peter’s room, Quentin hears a girl’s voice say in awe, “You had access to killer drones?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t really want it after I almost killed Brad,” Peter says. Quentin holds back a snort.

“You almost killed Brad?”

Quentin knocks on the window. “Peter? Are you there?”

“Shit!” Peter yelps.

Quentin feels something hit him in the chest and tug him into the room. He falls through the curtains, startled. The sudden motion flares up all his sore spots. Peter has him wrapped in webbing. He needs to stay calm, stay worried, like he doesn’t know why Peter is doing this.

“What- Peter, what are you doing?” Quentin doesn’t struggle, just looks up at Peter with a hurt expression. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah? About this?” Peter holds up the projector. His eyes burn into Quentin’s, he’s furious.

“Yes! I found- Fury made everything up!” Quentin says desperately.

“So this is Mysterio,” MJ says, crossing her arms.

Quentin looks up at her, and it’s hard to keep his pained surprised expression when he wants to glare. This is the girl Peter wants to kiss? She’s too late; Peter is his.

“Is this…?” Quentin raises his eyebrows and Peter blushes scarlet.

“Yeah, this is MJ,” Peter mumbles. “But we’re not talking about that! You lied to me! What is this projector for?! Did you make up the elementals? Why?”

“No, I didn’t! It was Fury, I just found out and came here to tell you,” Quentin says. He wiggles and gives Peter a worried look. “Please, just listen to me.”

Peter hesitates and then kneels next to him and starts ripping at the webbing. “Alright, talk. Why would Fury create fake monsters?”

Quentin shakes his head. “I heard him talking to Hill and couldn’t believe it. He was talking about how he thought these threats would draw out more heroes, they need a new team. The Avengers are broken, barely functioning. He created the elementals in such different places to see what heroes he could get to respond.”

Peter furrows his brow, mouth drawing into a thin line. Does he buy it?

“Then how did you know about the elementals and where they would show up? And if Fury was trying to draw out heroes, why did he kidnap me?” Peter leans back on his heels.

Quentin sits up, pulling the last of the webbing off himself. He shakes his head and swallows hard, like his grief is welling up.

“The elementals were real on my world… maybe he had some intel, maybe he just got lucky, I don’t know. I was on the scene for the first elemental and I was so worried this world would burn too. I poured out the whole story to Fury and maybe he changed his plans to mimic what I told him. I’m sorry you got caught up in this, Peter,” Quentin says quietly. He does the dramatic look up at Peter, channeling pain and longing. He hears Peter’s little intake of breath, sees the way his eyes soften, the suspicion melting away.

“Why wouldn’t Fury just ask…” Peter frowns. “He told me he used to know everything… and now he knows nothing. Is he, maybe he’s trying to create a new network of spies and heroes? But still, why kidnap me? If there were two of us against the fire monster, wouldn’t other heroes think it was handled and not bother?”

Quentin shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe the council in Berlin gave him a quota of heroes he needed?”

“So you’re saying that this Fury guy who put together the Avengers created new threats and put people at risk just so he could find more heroes? Isn’t he supposed to be the one protecting people?” MJ interjects. Her arms are crossed and she’s watching Quentin with the eyes of a hawk. She’s clever, and she doesn’t have the same emotional impetus as Peter to believe in him.

Quentin opens his mouth, but Peter beats him to it.

“You don’t know Fury, MJ. He’s like the ultimate super spy, and he’s totally ruthless. He finds a way to get what he wants, and maybe with the blip and losing To- uh- Iron Man he’s gone a little crazier than usual.” Peter stands up and goes to MJ. “Hey, uh, this is about to get really dangerous, so maybe, um, you should go back to your room.”

MJ looks between Peter and Quentin. He wants to say something snide, about how she should run back to her room like a good little girl, but that might push things the wrong way, if he’s too dismissive.

“Can I talk to you in the hall real quick then?” MJ says to Peter.

“Sure; give us a minute, Quentin,” Peter says and follows MJ to the hall, closing the door behind them.

Quentin pushes himself up and stretches. He’s so close. He desperately wants to listen at the door to how MJ is warning Peter. She doesn’t trust him, and he wishes he could refute her claims, or at least know what she picked up on that he can correct through his behavior.

He glances at Peter’s phone, thrown carelessly on the bed. Quentin pulls on EDITH.

“Track this phone and give me all incoming and outgoing calls, texts, everything. Every time he uses this phone I want to know,” Quentin whispers.

“Tracking locked, alerts set for Peter Parker’s mobile phone,” EDITH says.

The door knob rattles and Quentin whips off EDITH and stows the glasses in his armor. Peter enters the room with a sour expression, half pout, half annoyance.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Quentin asks, taking a step closer. Peter bites his lip.

He needs to make the seduction play, remind Peter why he doesn’t want Quentin to be guilty, make him want to believe it’s Fury. He needs to remind Peter of what they were doing two hours ago. It’s easy to fool people who are already fooling themselves.

Quentin reaches out and presses his thumb to Peter’s chin, pulling his lip from between his teeth. Peter swallows and looks up at him, caught and wide-eyed. Quentin leans down and kisses Peter slow, gentle, romantic, taking his time. When he pulls back, Peter’s eyes are closed and his breathing is a little heavy.

“Quentin,” Peter sighs his name, and god does it sound nice. He wants to hear Peter sigh his name like that repeatedly. Wants to have Peter in the palm of his hand, believing everything he says, waiting on his every word with that stars in his eyes expression.

He can’t help leaning in again to place a soft kiss on Peter’s lips. Peter blinks up at him, and then his shoulders droop.

“MJ had some good points,” Peter says quietly. Peter steps away from him. “You were in the projection I saw. Mysterio was flying around this weird storm monster.”

“I what? There was a projection of me?” Quentin plays dumb, horrified. “What was I doing? Do you think Fury’s planning to pin this on me?”

Peter frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what to believe or what’s going on. How did you know to come now? Right after the projector went off?”

This kid does not know how to bluff, or how to hold things back, he’s just putting everything on the table for Quentin to explain away. It’s perfect.

“I don’t know, maybe Fury and Hill were talking about it because they were creating a new one? What was the monster you saw? Do you think they’re going to hit Berlin so Fury can have more power? Take out whatever council they’re meeting with?” Quentin says worriedly.

Peter chews his lower lip. “I guess we have to go to Berlin to find out. We have to confront Fury about this.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to wait and see what his next move is?” Quentin asks. He and the team could make some sort of illusion in Berlin rather than London and further put it on Fury to convince Peter.

“No, I want to be there if something bad happens.” Peter grabs his black costume out of his backpack and strips off his shirt.

Quentin appreciates the view, noticing the bruises he left on Peter’s hips earlier haven’t yet faded. Good thing his little girlfriend didn’t see this; she probably would have had questions that Peter would have struggled to answer.

Peter notices Quentin’s stare and blushes, but doesn’t ask him to turn around, so he doesn’t. He watches Peter strip down and wishes they could take more time right now to explore each other. There will be time later, after they take down Fury.

His team will have to be on call, they might have to totally scrap the London scheme and come up with something new, or maybe they can start the London project without him, get it set up while Fury and Hill are in Berlin and then he and Peter can go off to save the day.

Now that they have EDITH, he can change the plan around if need be. If Fury’s out of the picture it will be easier to convince the rest of the world he’s a hero anyway.

“Ready?” Peter asks, flipping up his goggles.

Quentin snakes an arm around Peter’s waist and pulls him in. He lifts the bottom of Peter’s mask to kiss him again, and then pulls his back down with a grin. Peter blinks up at him, so innocent, so willing to be fooled.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Quentin says. He watches Peter leap out the window, admiring his lithe form, those unassuming muscles that hold so much strength.

He’ll pull this ruse off or die trying.


End file.
